chapter 28

Yan Ci settled down in Qingzhou. Qingzhou is rainy, and every summer is filled with rolling thunder.

On stormy nights, Yan Ci would be startled awake by nightmares, calling my name in panic from his bedchamber: “Guanqi, Guanqi!”

I entered the room and lit the lamp. He, having fallen from the bed, clutched at my hem, begging me not to leave again.

I held the candle and looked at him. A drop of wax fell onto the back of his hand, raising a crystal-clear blister. But Yan Ci did not let go.

After Madam died, Yan Ci began to have nightmares, dreaming of Madam planting hydrangeas and shaking the osmanthus blossoms in the courtyard.

Yan Ci hated every stormy night, for he had once sworn a vicious oath: if he ever lied, may he be struck by lightning.

I gestured familiarly: “Our rooms are close together. If lightning strikes you dead, it will strike me dead as well.”

Yan Ci asked me to sing. I could not, so he sang himself: Do Not Cross the River, yet you crossed the river. Crossing the river to your death, what can be done about you?

Pale lightning illuminated his breathtakingly beautiful face. Thunder crashed, and he curled up in my arms.

Resting his head on my lap, he whispered, “Guanqi, the palace gates are deep and forbidding. The only thing I can truly hold onto is the hem of your robe.”

Very well. If the world is adrift and one must cling to something, then the only thing I wish to hold onto is an axe.

It is often said: first establish a family, then a career. At twenty-two, Yan Ci married Lin Yange, the only daughter of the Guardian General.

On his wedding day, the rib he had broken during a nightmare had not yet fully healed.

Yan Ci rode a tall horse, dressed in bright red wedding robes. He suited red well, as if this color was made just to set him off.

With features as if painted, flawless in his beauty, he was the Thirteenth Prince-loyal, filial, clever, and quick-witted.

Only I knew his hidden secret: beneath his splendid brocade robes, he carried a fragile rib.

After the ceremony, Yan Ci drank and talked late into the night with his father-in-law, General Lin, leaving me in the bridal chamber to keep company with Lin Yange.

Lin Yange sat in the room for two hours, sent me to pour tea ten times, and to change candles seven times. On the last trip, she called me over.

“I heard His Highness favors a Butcher, and it turns out to be you. Kneel and let me have a look.”

I knelt. Her slender fingers lifted a corner of her veil, and a pair of exquisite eyes scrutinized me from above through the gap, silent for a long time.

I knelt, holding the wedding candle, hot wax dripping onto my hand. I grew bored, my mind wandering.

Lin Yange’s neck was so slender that with a single swing of my axe, I could sever it before she even had time to cry out in pain.

Pity I could not do so-at least, not now. My throat is damaged, not my mind.

The noise from the hall faded, signaling the end of the wedding banquet. Yan Ci’s footsteps drew near. Lin Yange finally spoke: “Go out.”

I brushed past Yan Ci as he entered the bridal chamber, and behind me came the silvery, melodious laughter of a woman.

A dull thud, then a deathly silence. I stopped, counting to three in my heart. Yan Ci pushed open the door: “Guanqi, come back.”