To Embers We Return — Chapter 14
***
It was rare for Shen Ni to still be asleep this close to noon. She was roused only when Auntie Wan, worried about breakfast getting cold, came knocking on the door.
Shen Ni’s first thought when she opened her eyes was that the view seemed a little different this morning. Then she realised it was because she was lying on the bed. She remembered the silent permission Bian Jin had given her last night.
She turned and found herself face to face with Bian Jin, who was just beginning to stir.
Bian Jin’s cheek was pillowed on the back of one hand, and her long hair was spread across her pillow. Her skin was as fair and smooth as cream. In that moment, she seemed completely unguarded, all softness and sweetness.
Very slowly, Bian Jin opened those lovely peach-blossom eyes. They were a little red; it seemed she hadn’t slept well last night either. She blinked a little muzzily, like a newborn fawn. The moment her eyes met Shen Ni’s, however, she sprang into full wakefulness. All her usual self-possession flooded back into those now-bright, now-sharp eyes.
‘Good morning,’ said Shen Ni.
Bian Jin started to sit up, then seemed to realise she was wearing only her undershirt. She tugged the blankets over her chest a little uneasily.
Without any trace of awkwardness, Shen Ni swung her legs over the side of the bed, got up, reached for Bian Jin’s outer robe, and — without looking at Bian Jin — handed it to her. Bian Jin murmured her thanks.
Back in the old days, Shen Ni recalled, whenever Bian Jin had cuddled and coaxed her to sleep, she’d usually been wearing no more than an undershirt as well, and had shown no trace of self-consciousness about it.
Bian Jin, however, was all too aware that things between the two of them had changed, that they’d left the innocent days at Shuangji Hall far behind. Then there had been Shen Ni’s declaration of love that winter’s night six year ago as well. Shen Ni was very much grown up now, as the curves of that graceful figure attested. It was impossible for Bian Jin to keep on treating her like the child she’d once been, and so it was difficult for her to be as at ease around Shen Ni as she’d been before.
They washed and dressed separately. As Bian Jin splashed water onto her face, she felt a stab of pain from her left hand. She spread out her palm and saw a livid cut running across it, one that looked as if it had been made by some sharp object. She stood lost in thought for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly.
After Bian Jin had finished washing her face, she cleaned her hand thoroughly, then went to ask Auntie Wan for a medical kit.
Shen Ni was sitting in the warming chamber when a maid came in to tell her that breakfast was ready. She scrolled idly first through the official documents that had come in after she’d gone to bed yesterday, then through the reports generated by the mansion’s automated systems. The anti-burglary module had recorded one instance of an unidentified intruder last night, she noted. The area where the breach had occurred was the main courtyard.
Shen Ni went outside and took a turn through the grounds, but saw nothing suspicious. Perhaps it was some bird or other small animal that had stumbled unwittingly across the mansion’s perimeter? But no; such creatures were usually highly alert both to signs of surveillance and any threat they might herald. It would be unlike them to enter a zone that was being actively monitored.
As she sat down opposite Bian Jin at the breakfast, Shen Ni noticed the bandage wrapped around Bian Jin’s left palm. ‘When did that happen?’ she asked, gripping her spoon tightly.
‘I had a little mishap, that’s all,’ said Bian Jin. ‘It’s only a small cut.’
Shen Ni’s thoughts slowed a little. She paused consideringly, but asked nothing further.
The digital watch which Shen Ni had placed beside her on the table buzzed again and again. She glanced over at it. The screen, sensing her gaze, unlocked itself and lit up.
Shen Ni ran a quick eye over her notifications. Practically all of her group chats — including the one she’d set up for the Directorate staff — were brimming with excitement over one of the highlights of tomorrow’s Shangyuan celebrations. The Great Wheel of Fire would be lit up for the very first time, and everyone was keen to witness that momentous occasion.
Before the emergence of the Black Box virus, the Shangyuan Festival had been the holiday celebrated most exuberantly across the empire. After the virus’ shadow had fallen and lengthened across the continent, however, humanity had lived in fear, clinging to an existence too precarious to allow for much in the way of festive merriment. This state of affairs had lasted until Shen Ni struck her victorious blow against the Black Box virus in Yanluo, rendering it temporarily dormant. Now Chang’an, the only place on the continent to be spared its depredations, was slowly regaining its former vibrancy. Its residents were beginning once again to entertain extravagant hopes and dreams for the future — which was to say, any hopes and dreams at all. They no longer spent all their days in fear, and smiles could now be seen more readily in the streets.
The Great Wheel of Fire was a grand infrastructure project whose construction Li Ruoyuan had personally overseen. All of the activities that had been planned for this year’s Shangyuan celebrations — the lantern riddle competitions, the performances and the rest — were aimed at lifting the spirits of Chang’an’s residents. Only if the people of TangPro could cast aside their old fears and regain the will to fight for a brighter tomorrow could the empire thrive once more.
Shen Ni mentioned the Shangyuan celebrations to Bian Jin in passing.
‘I got the invitation from the Civil Affairs Bureau too,’ said Bian Jin.
‘Are you going?’ Shen Ni asked quite nonchalantly. She knew Bian Jin had never liked crowds, but since the conversation had already led them here, and they were having breakfast together anyway, she thought she might as well bring it up.
Bian Jin, however, thought that Shen Ni was suggesting that they attend the festivities together. She surmised that Shen Ni must be thinking of keeping up appearances in front of outsiders again. Just as she needed to wear a rensheng made by her wife in order to avoid the mockery of her subordinates on Renri, it was only proper for her to be seen at the Shangyuan celebrations with her wife by her side, marvelling at the Great Wheel of Fire together.
‘Yes, I am,’ said Bian Jin.
Shen Ni stared at her, a little surprised.
‘Should I bring anything with me?’ Bian Jin went on. ‘Do you plan on entering any of the lantern riddle contests? Let me know if you do, and I’ll start preparing for them right away.’
So she wants to go with me, thought Shen Ni.
Bian Jin was the kind of person who sought to be the best at whatever she set her hand to. Even when it came to a leisure activity like lantern riddles, she would put in her utmost effort. If Shen Ni did express an interest in competing, she had no doubt Bian Jin would immediately go and cram up on the kind of questions that were likely to be asked, giving them the best chance possible of outstripping their opponents.
Knowing that her subordinates would want to celebrate a major festival like Shangyuan with their friends and families, and believing quite strongly that Bian Jin would have no desire to spend it with her, Shen Ni had originally arranged to be on duty at the Directorate tomorrow night. Now, however…
Shen Ni decided she would stop by the Directorate the next afternoon to see if anyone was willing to trade shifts with her. If not, she would simply have to design a whole new surveillance program on the spot.
‘No preparations needed,’ she told Bian Jin. ‘I have to go to the Directorate tomorrow, but I’ll be back right after I’m done there. Why don’t you wait for me at home, and we’ll leave for the festival together?’
‘I will,’ said Bian Jin, giving a little nod.
As she looked down at Bian Jin’s briefly lowered head, Shen Ni was struck by how docile her shijie suddenly seemed.
The next day, after the midday meal, Shen Ni put on her hyacinth-purple cloak and left the mansion, but not before telling Bian Jin she would be back by the second hour of Shen.[1] They would set out for the festival then.
Bian Jin was not very good at waiting. Nearly four hours before the appointed time, she had already gone into the bedchamber, intending to choose an outfit for tonight.
The entire north wall of the room was taken up by a vast hidden closet. Bian Jin had helped Auntie Wan tidy it up before, which was when she’d discovered that Shen Ni didn’t own many clothes. Such garments as she did have were hung neatly on one side of the closet, taking up very little space The rest of it had been left empty, as if waiting for Bian Jin to fill it up. Given the size of the closet and the fact that Bian Jin herself also possessed very few clothes, she’d come nowhere close to doing so. Other than a few items she’d bought for herself recently, most of her wardrobe still consisted of the clothes Shen Ni had arranged to be made for her just before their wedding. These were cut in the latest style and from vibrantly-coloured fabrics. At the time, Bian Jin had told Auntie Wan that she felt the designs didn’t suit her. Too youthful, she’d said.
Auntie Wan had replied, however, that her lordship thought her ladyship would look very well in those styles.
Auntie Wan might well be saying so simply to keep relations between Bian Jin and Shen Ni cordial, Bian Jin had thought at the time. She was a loyal and devoted servant, and even back at Shuangji Hall, she’d been known far and wide for her kindly nature. Shen Ni might not have actually said those words herself.
Bian Jin hesitated for a long while in front of the closet. Her eyes skimmed over the few garments she’d bought herself, and fell again on the ones Shen Ni had given her.
***
Shen Ni pushed open the door to the Directorate. A chill gust of wind slipped opportunistically past her as she did, making Zeng Qingluo — who was wearing only a single-layered outer robe in the warm room — shiver.
Shen Ni shut the door firmly. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, slipping off her cloak.
Zeng Qingluo flicked the thick sheaf of receipts she was holding. ‘Still working my way through the accounts, of course. What else? The foundations haven’t even been properly laid yet, and we’ve already accumulated a huge mess of debts. Holiday or not, I’m spending today by myself anyway, so I thought I might as well come in here and get some more work done. If I get these accounts sorted out, that should help the project run a little more smoothly once it gets off the ground.’
Zeng Qingluo stood up from her desk to fetch herself a cup of water. As she did so, she briefly lost control of her cybernetic left leg. She stumbled, and would have fallen over had Shen Ni not caught hold of her in time.
‘Thank you, xiaoshijie,’ said Zeng Qingluo as she sat back down in her chair. ‘That gave me quite a fright.’
Shen Ni spread out her palm, activating the diagnostic scanner embedded in its centre. It glowed with a gentle white light. She ran the scanner over Zeng Qingluo’s left leg. Then she looked up and fixed a quiet gaze on Zeng Qingluo.
Zeng Qingluo found that rather alarming. ‘Please stop looking at me like that, xiaoshijie,’ she said. ‘I, I only did it as a precaution.’
‘That’s no reason to use an implant that’s stronger than your jade core can bear,’ said Shen Ni. ‘You’ve got a B-tier jade core, but that leg is an A-tier prosthetic. You could lose control of it at any moment, or worse, even overload your cybernetic circuits. Do you want to go mad?’
The technological explosion brought on by the contents of the capsule from the future had dragged humanity into a new age — one dominated almost entirely by the obsession with ever more sophisticated cybernetic enhancements. In the first decade after the discovery of the capsule, countless people had been driven mad when, in their greed, they sought to use implants too powerful for their cybernetic circuitry to bear. Many had even perished when their circuits fused. In those crazed, turbulent early years, these seekers after cybernetic supremacy became nothing short of monsters. They had turned on each other, and the mass slaughter that ensued had made the continent a vast, blood-soaked scrap heap. Some speculated that it was from its deepest, foulest corners that the terrifying Black Box virus had been birthed.
The jade core, that much-needed, long-anticipated piece of technology, had finally been perfected a century later. It augmented its users’ control over their cyberware, allowing the use of more and more powerful implants. But there were still considerable risks.
Jade cores, like implants, came in different power levels, and no one could safely handle a jade core whose tier rating exceeded that of their own natural Talent. At the same time, the power level of the jade core itself also imposed limitations on the calibre of cyberware one could use. If the chosen implant or prosthetic was more powerful than the jade core could bear, there was a very high risk that it would overload the user’s cybernetic circuitry, burning a hole right through their jade core. This was an irreversible, often near-fatal injury. It would drive the user mad and, in a good many cases, simply kill them on the spot.
Faced with the evidence of Zeng Qingluo’s irresponsible decision, all of Shen Ni’s usual deceptive mildness had vanished. Her pretty face became stern. Despite her youth, this was a rather terrifying sight to behold.
‘Of course I don’t want to go mad or die,’ said Zeng Qingluo in a low voice, gripping her knee. ‘But we know that the Black Box hasn’t gone anywhere, and I need to be ready to fight it. The prosthetic I used to have was much too weak, and I’m only a B-tier warrior. I won’t be strong enough to protect anyone once the Black Box comes back to life.’
Zeng Qingluo’s own mother was the one who had cut off her left leg. Her mother had been her only family, and the two of them had depended wholly on each other since Zeng Qingluo was a child. Somehow, however, her mother had fallen victim to the Black Box virus. Maddened by the infection, she’d attacked Zeng Qingluo, chopped off her leg, then thrown herself off a cliff.
It was Zeng Qingluo’s bone-deep hatred of the Black Box that had led her to offer up her life and loyalty to Shen Ni. To her, Shen Ni was humanity’s greatest hope for eradicating the virus once and for all, and she hoped to be able to make her own small contribution to the endeavour. All this while, she’d also been nursing a dream of becoming stronger herself, the better to avenge her mother’s death.
Silence stretched. Then Shen Ni flicked the top of Zeng Qingluo’s head. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? You’ve got a perfectly capable xiaoshijie here — what do you take me for, a stranger?’
Zeng Qingluo clapped a hand over the spot where Shen Ni’s fingers had struck. ‘I thought you might, you know, be busy,’ she said, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘What with the wedding and everything.’
Other newlyweds might indeed find their time fully occupied in the weeks after their marriage. They might be busy pleasing their wives, or busy being pleased by their wives, or some combination of the two. There was, of course, nothing of the sort going on between herself and Bian Jin, so Shen Ni was left with rather more time on her hands. That was a private matter, however, and she didn’t feel like revealing to someone else that she and Bian Jin had yet to consummate their marriage. So she only replied, ‘Since I’m in the middle of repairing dashijie’s cybernetic spine and jade core anyway, I might as well build you a new leg too. Come by my workshop whenever you have a moment. It won’t be any trouble.’
Any cybernetic implant crafted by Shen Ni herself — even if it was something as minor as a B-tier finger — was worth at least a million taels on the dark web. Zeng Qingluo hadn’t wanted to ask Shen Ni for a favour of such magnitude. Now that Shen Ni had made the suggestion herself, Zeng Qingluo flushed and said with a smile, ‘Then I’ll come and visit you and dashijie when you’re next free.’
‘Dashijie would love to see you more often,’ Shen Ni replied.
Both of their digital watches buzzed at the exact same moment. Diwu Que had sent them both identical messages.
‘Diwu jiejie says she’s already in Chang’an!’ said Zeng Qingluo delightedly. ‘She says she’ll be here at the Directorate very soon.’
During the two years Zeng Qingluo had spent fighting in Yanluo, she’d once lost the four fingers on her right hand, when an enemy soldier had cut them off right at the knuckle. It was Diwu Que who’d gone to extreme lengths to retrieve them, digging them some three feet out of the ground where they’d fallen and been buried. Shen Ni had then stayed up all night sewing them back onto Zeng Qingluo’s hand, using the most advanced nano-stitching techniques.
‘She’ll be here so soon?’ asked Shen Ni.
Zeng Qingluo was packing up her things eagerly, getting ready to welcome Diwu Que. ‘I think she sent you a message a while ago, xiaoshijie, telling you she was coming to Chang’an on official business, and that she wanted to take the opportunity to congratulate you on your marriage. She said she would probably arrive on the day of the Shangyuan Festival itself.’
Now that Zeng Qingluo had mentioned it, Shen Ni recalled the message. But—
‘I have other plans tonight,’ she said.
Understanding dawned instantly over Zeng Qingluo’s face. She gave Shen Ni an impish grin. ‘No wonder you came in here at this hour. Are you and dashijie planning to see the Great Wheel of Fire together? You should go. I’ll have dinner with Diwu jiejie, then come straight back for the night shift after that.’
Shen Ni did not turn down her offer. ‘All the construction has been paused anyway, so no one will be at work today,’ she said, activating the holographic keyboard from her watch. There shouldn’t be anything for you to take care of tonight. I just need to review all the components of the project to make sure everything is as it should be.’
‘When are you leaving?’ asked Zeng Qingluo.
Shen Ni propped up her chin on one hand, her little finger pressing against the upturned curve of her lip. Her other hand flew swiftly over the keyboard. ‘Right after I finish these checks.’
***
Bian Jin, her mountain-green cloak over her shoulders, finally wound her way out of the open-air antiques market. She felt as if the chill wind had blown right through her. In her right hand, which was encased in a white leather glove, she held a little crystal globe. She studied it as she brushed the snow from the top of her head.
The scene inside the crystal globe was the simplest one possible. Grains of fine white sand fell ceaselessly over a tiny cottage with a family of three standing outside it, their features indistinct.
Bian Jin was grateful for the care Shen Ni had shown her over the last few weeks, and she’d been meaning to buy Shen Ni a small gift as a token of her appreciation. The Shangyuan Festival felt like the perfect occasion to give it to her.[2]
Shen Ni had had a snow globe much like this when she was little. She could spend whole mornings staring at it, Bian Jin remembered, watching as the white ‘snow’ fell onto the little cottage. Bian Jin had often wondered whether she was thinking of her missing parents.
Bian Jin had given her that snow globe to amuse herself with. Now that she was looking for a present for Shen Ni, that had been one of the first things that came to mind. Snow globes had been out of fashion for many years, and Bian Jin had had to hunt through the shops at the antiques market for the whole afternoon before finally coming across a similar one.
There was no need to wait until the second hour of Shen, she decided, nor for Shen Ni to go to the trouble of returning to the mansion. Since she’d already come all the way out here, she might as well go and look for Shen Ni at the Directorate. Then they could go and see the Great Wheel of Fire together.
The entrance to the Directorate was flanked by parrot lilies,[3] their eyeball-sized blossoms waving in the wind. Overhead, the darkened sky seethed; a snowstorm was brewing.
Shen Ni was standing just inside the entrance, her back to Bian Jin. She was wearing her purple cloak, the one in the exact same style as Bian Jin’s green. Bian Jin was about to call out to her when another young woman came striding round the corner of the building, went straight up to Shen Ni and threw her arms around her happily.
Shen Ni inclined her head slightly to look at the newcomer just as snow began to fall. The two of them were of an age, and as they stood gazing at each other in that close embrace, they made a lovely pair indeed.
A good thing I hadn’t called out yet, thought Bian Jin. She recalled their conversation that morning, and realised that Shen Ni had probably had no intention of spending the Shangyuan Festival with her before she’d made the suggestion. She’d asked for too much, putting Shen Ni in an awkward position. On this day of celebration, Shen Ni had to bid her sweetheart farewell and spend the rest of the evening with Bian Jin instead, her wife in nothing but name.
Bian Jin was overcome with guilt. Her first impulse was to go right up to Shen Ni and tell her, ‘Never mind those plans we made — you should keep your sweetheart company instead.’
But if she were to turn up like that out of nowhere, wouldn’t that upset Shen Ni’s young lady?
She’d better keep out of sight.
Bian Jin tucked the snow globe into her sleeve and paced slowly away through the snow.
It hadn’t occurred to her when she bought it, but now that Bian Jin thought about it, her shimei was a full-grown woman of twenty-two years, and a seasoned military commander as well. Shen Ni would probably have no interest in such a dull little plaything now.
***
Footnotes:
- In the original text, 申时初刻 (pinyin: shenshi chuke), approximately 4pm to 5pm. In traditional Chinese timekeeping, each day was divided into twelve divisions called 时 (pinyin: shi), each roughly double the length of the contemporary hour. Each bi-hour was associated with one of the twelve ‘earthly branches’ (地支, pinyin: dizhi) used for measuring dates and designating order. ‘Shen’ (申) is the ninth of these. The first half of each bi-hour was referred to as 正刻 (pinyin: zhengke), the second half as 初刻 (pinyin: chuke). [return to text]
- The Shangyuan Festival also has romantic connotations, as it is said to have provided unmarried upper-class women in historical times with the rare opportunity to come out in public and participate in the celebrations (chaperoned, of course), giving them the chance to meet potential partners. It is also an occasion on which lovers exchange gifts. Bian Jin may or may not have had this consciously in mind. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 六出 (pinyin: liuchu). In the real world, more commonly known as the Peruvian lily or lily of the Incas. [return to text]
douqi 随笔 