Chapter 4

Had my sister-in-law loved someone she should never have loved too?

My brother fell ill for no apparent reason.

One day, just before court, he suddenly coughed up blood.

I saw what lay in the bundle he had opened.

A box of moldy dumplings. My sister-in-law had packed them when she sent him back to the capital.

He had only just found them.

Once, in a letter, he had praised her dumplings as the best in the world.

The mountain that had stood unshaken in his heart

collapsed at the sight of that plate of small, neatly made dumplings.

The details of their days together wove themselves into a dense net.

It tightened around his heart and would not let him go.

I secretly returned to Flying Tiger Mountain and went to the hot spring she had mentioned.

Tiny bubbles rose through the water. I watched them.

At last, the boy could hold his breath no longer. He broke the surface, gasping.

He had hidden in the hot spring that day and escaped the slaughter.

He could certainly hold his breath for a long time.

It was the boy who had asked me to dance.

He watched me warily, his eyes full of hatred.

“Come. Let’s bury your people.”

Without looking at him again, I turned and left.

He followed close behind, steam rising from his body.

Wet hair clung to his shoulders. His teeth chattered.

I paused, took off my cloak, and threw it on the ground. He could use it or not.

The heads on the city wall had finally been taken down and dumped in the burial ground east of the city.

The boy and I crept in and stole the battered remains.

We dug from daylight until dark before the pit was large enough.

He knelt before the enormous grave and struck his forehead against the earth three times.

“Take me in.”

He caught my arm and scrubbed his face clean.

For the first time, I really saw him.

The young boy was astonishingly handsome, his pale skin almost translucent, his eyes wonderfully bright.

I didn’t like making trouble for myself.

But his eyes and brows reminded me of my sister-in-law.

I gave him a noncommittal sort of agreement.

I could see that he had food and clothes and could someday marry and have children. That was all I could do.

He was my sister-in-law’s half brother, An Muyang. They shared a father.

He was only fifteen, two years younger than I was.

Seeing him curled up pitifully in the carriage,

I thought of a peeled lychee trembling in someone’s palm.

I settled him in a separate house, assigned a few mute slaves to attend him, and considered how to conceal his identity.

Leave the roots and the weeds will grow again in spring.

I understood that. With the slightest effort, I could have killed him.

After much thought, I decided to leave him to himself.

I could not become too deeply involved with him.

I left him the house and a sum of money.

The rest would depend on his own fortune.

I slipped away in secret.

Then I discovered he had somehow climbed a tree and was gazing wistfully down at me.

“Thank you,” he said.

A few leaves fluttered loose and landed on my shoulder.