To Embers We Return — Chapter 20
***
As Diwu Que and Zeng Qingluo drew up at the gates of the mansion, servants came forward to lead their horses to the parking bay. Diwu Que was staring openly at Bian Jin even before she dismounted.
Bian Jin was used to being stared at, whether with admiration or hatred; she’d long become inured to other people’s gazes. Shen Ni was looking on with perfect equanimity, so it was impossible for Bian Jin to tell how she meant to play this out. In the end, Bian Jin decided that, no matter what this young woman said or did to her, she would simply let it slide, and follow Shen Ni’s lead. In the meantime, all she had to do was play the part of a statue named ‘Shen Ni’s wife’ as best as she could.
Diwu Que made straight towards Bian Jin, her expression a blend of astonishment and excitement. Bian Jin glanced away coolly.
Then Diwu Que broke into a run. ‘It really is you, Governor-General Bian! It really is you!’ she shrieked, as she sprinted towards Bian Jin with her arms outstretched. She let out a whoop of excitement. ‘I finally get to see you in the flesh!’
Bian Jin stared at her, mystified. She was still trying to decide whether to simply sidestep the other woman’s embrace or send her flying with a well-placed kick when Shen Ni stepped forward. She lodged her arm firmly against Diwu Que’s shoulder, halting the uninhibited Muzhou woman in her headlong charge. Diwu Que skidded to a stop while she was still some three paces away from Bian Jin.
‘This is an old comrade of mine from the north,’ Shen Ni said to Bian Jin by way of introduction. ‘Diwu Que, of the main branch of the Diwu clan, Deputy Military Commissioner of Muzhou, who is known for hugging everyone she sees.’
Diwu Que found this description of herself deeply unsatisfactory. ‘What do you mean, I hug everyone I see? I got too excited about finally seeing Governor-General Bian in person, that’s all! I don’t go around hugging just anyone. I’m hardly as — as — as careless with my affections as you’re making me out to be!’
‘I’m sure you could be, if you really put your mind to it,’ said Shen Ni.
Diwu Que glared at her.
This exchange of barbs certainly had nothing that was loverlike about it.
Shen Ni had pointed out Diwu Que’s penchant for ‘hugging everyone she sees’ with seeming carelessness, but she’d meant those words especially for Bian Jin’s ears. She wanted Bian Jin to know that she’d completely misunderstood the significance of what she’d seen on the night of the Shangyuan Festival.
Bian Jin’s eyes barely flickered. So this whole convoluted episode had been staged for her benefit, she thought. Shen Ni’s intellect was deep and subtle indeed.
Still, the arm Shen Ni had placed around her waist now seemed suddenly less cumbersome.
Shen Ni turned, fixing her gaze steadily on Bian Jin as she went on, ‘And as you know, Mistress Diwu, this is my—’
And there she paused, very obviously waiting for Bian Jin to fill in the blank.
Shen Ni had already decided that she would not object to whatever term of address Bian Jin might choose. Whether it was ‘shijie’, or even ‘old acquaintance that one doesn’t know all that well’, Shen Ni would simply follow it with an acquiescent, ‘That’s right.’
Bian Jin’s breathing thickened imperceptibly. Shen Ni had paused at the most crucial part of that sentence, and now she was looking at Bian Jin — and everyone else had followed her gaze — clearly waiting for Bian Jin to acknowledge the relationship between them.
What a wily little fox Shen Ni was. What could Bian Jin say now, other than that obvious term of address?
Well, she would do as Shen Ni wished. After all, except for that one time six years ago, when had she ever denied Shen Ni anything?
‘—wife,’ Bian Jin finished.
I’m her wife.
The smile on Shen Ni’s face did not change one single iota; she merely shifted her gaze away from Bian Jin again. The fingers resting on Bian Jin’s waist, however, twitched almost imperceptibly.
Before Diwu Que had arrived in Chang’an, she’d had no idea who Shen Ni’s new wife was. She’d even lamented to herself how tragic it was that Shen Ni should be compelled to wed someone else while her heart was already full of another, and how bleak married life would be for her. It had come as a complete shock when she heard that the bride who had been thrust upon Shen Ni was none other than Bian Jin herself.
Diwu Que had learned about this only yesterday from Zeng Qingluo, as the two of them sat over a meal at a restaurant together with the Military Commissioner of Muzhou, Diwu Que’s immediate superior. Diwu Que had been so taken aback at the news that she’d let the ladle she was holding slip back into the tureen of beef bone soup, splashing the boiling hot liquid all over the Military Commissioner, who was sitting next to her. The Military Commissioner had left her backside black and blue, and the full force of the pain had only caught up with her later that night.
In many ways, Diwu Que’s astonishment was only to be expected. Within the twelve northern provinces, there was a well-known saying that still echoed on many people’s lips: ‘No gods, no demons; we venerate only Bian Jin.’
Those who lived in that far-off, impoverished territory had never laid eyes on the emperor who ruled over them from distant Chang’an. It was Bian Jin who’d driven their invaders back from their homes, Bian Jin who alleviated the worst of their sufferings, Bian Jin who’d thrown open the doors of the imperial granaries in times of famine, Bian Jin who raced to solve one crisis after another. To them, it was Bian Jin who held up the sky.
Diwu Que’s home province, Muzhou, was not one of the twelve northern provinces. But it lay very close to them, and so tales of Bian Jin’s deeds had spread throughout it as well. The Diwu clan was the most prominent noble family in Muzhou, and they revered Bian Jin no less than the people of the twelve northern provinces did. A portrait of Bian Jin hung in the main hall of Diwu Que’s family home.
In the heartlands of the empire, it was Buddha they prayed to; in the north, it was Bian Jin.
That was something that had remained unchanged despite the accusations that now surrounded Bian Jin. The northerners did not care what charges the imperial court might lay on Bian Jin’s head; they offered up their prayers just the same.
After Shen Ni had vanquished the Black Box virus, her portrait had been added to altars all across the twelve northern provinces, hanging next to Bian Jin’s. Every day, thousands upon thousands of households lit offerings of incense to both of them. They were the most celebrated guardian deities across the north, and in every household where they were revered, it was always as a pair.
Now that these two living divinities were standing in front of her — and right next to each other, at that — Diwu Que would have lit the customary three sticks of incense to them on the spot, if not for the presence of bystanders. Well, if she couldn’t offer up a prayer openly, she could at least whisper one to herself. After all, they did say a sincere enough faith could work wonders.
Diwu Que stared unblinkingly at Bian Jin as she uttered her silent prayer, her eyes gleaming with more than a touch of greed.
Bian Jin, the unknowing recipient of countless offerings of incense across the twelve northern provinces and at least five or six of their neighbouring territories, felt rather ill at ease — even more so than when she’d believed Diwu Que to be Shen Ni’s sweetheart.
‘And why have you come here today, Mistress Diwu?’ Shen Ni prompted thoughtfully.
Having recited a silent litany of prayers for her family’s continued good health, prosperity and political success, Diwu Que finally came back to earth. She heaved the two enormous gift boxes she’d brought with her out of the panniers, and placed them in front of Shen Ni and Bian Jin.
‘To present you with my belated wedding gifts, of course!’ she said. ‘And may I take this opportunity to wish our two living deities, ah, I mean, our happy couple a long and blissful life together. May your love for each other grow even stronger with each passing day!’
The sheer frankness of Diwu Que’s words brought a wave of heat to Bian Jin’s face as she murmured a dutiful thanks.
Having discharged her obligations as hostess, Bian Jin decided it was time to make a graceful exit. ‘I’m just going to see how Auntie Wan is getting on with the midday meal,’ she said, smiling at her guests. ‘Please do excuse me.’
With that, she turned, taking advantage of the movement to dislodge Shen Ni’s arm from her waist, and left the courtyard.
Diwu Que gazed after Bian Jin’s departing back. Bian Jin did not give so much as the briefest backward glance. ‘She’s leaving?’ asked Diwu Que in tones that were almost mournful. ‘Just like that?’
Shen Ni, the crook of her arm now encircling only empty air, smiled at her as if to say, ‘What do you think?’
As the servants put the wedding gifts away, Shen Ni suggested that Diwu Que and Zeng Qingluo should join her in the warming chamber for some tea. ‘The emperor was gracious enough to send me some tea leaves[1] from Mount Wanrui. The harvest this year came to only one pound[2] in total. The emperor kept half of that for herself and gave me the rest.’
Back in Muzhou, tea was drunk out of vast bowls, so Diwu Que was unfamiliar with the more delicate habits of the empire’s heartlands. Since this was the very same tea drunk by the emperor herself, however, she obviously had to try it..
As they made their way towards the warming chamber, Shen Ni’s digital watch buzzed. Her agent in the north had finally replied.
She led Diwu Que and Zeng Qingluo into the warming chamber, where Auntie Wan was on hand to make them comfortable. Then she retreated to a secluded corner of the courtyard outside and opened her agent’s encrypted message. It contained the location where Bian Jin’s bone whip had last been seen.
Last known whereabouts: the Xuanzhou Empire.
Those three words — ‘the Xuanzhou Empire’ — held Shen Ni’s gaze for a good long while. Then slowly she looked up, and saw Bian Jin in the distance, wandering down one of the covered walkways that wound through the grounds. The snow-laden branches of the plum trees that lined the walkway hid her from view every now and then; the red blossoms that dotted them swayed gently in the breeze. At one point, a maid came up to Bian Jin and said something to her. Bian Jin dropped her gaze briefly, and her lips curved in an unexpectedly warm smile.
The maid left, and Bian Jin continued down the walkway. Shen Ni’s eyes followed her for several long moments. She recalled the rumours she’d heard about Bian Jin and the female emperor of Xuanzhou, and the debaucheries they supposedly indulged in every night.
A half-formed suspicion wound its tendrils around her heart like sticky cobwebs, criss-crossing it over and over. Her breathing became gradually heavier, and a strange ache filled her chest.
A gust of wind howled through the courtyard, crumpling the clouds overhead into fragments. They threw shattered, distorted shadows onto the ground, like so much detritus.
***
Time had been ebbing and flowing strangely for Bian Jin in the last few days. Sometimes, hours would flash past in the blink of an eye; at others, they would slow to a complete crawl. Her memory seemed to have become worse, too. One moment she would be thinking about something she meant to do, and when she blinked and looked up again, it would already be done. She wondered if this was a byproduct of the damage to her memory module.
Bian Jin’s first impulse had been to talk it over with Shen Ni, but when she remembered the strange sensations Shen Ni’s touch had roused within her last night, her head began to throb again. It was best for her to keep some distance from Shen Ni, she decided, at least for the next few days.
One of the maids came up to her as she was walking through the grounds, and together they went over the details of the fairly lavish midday meal that would be served to the guests. Then the maid left, and Bian Jin had just resumed her progress when she heard Zeng Qingluo calling out behind her. ‘Dashijie!’
Zeng Qingluo caught up with her in a few quick steps.
‘I thought you were with your xiaoshijie and Mistress Diwu,’ said Bian Jin.
‘They’re having tea in the warming chamber,’ Zeng Qingluo explained. ‘I don’t particularly care for tea, so I thought I’d come and pester you, dashijie, and see if there’s anything I can help with.’
Zeng Qingluo had always had a special affection for Bian Jin. To her, Bian Jin wasn’t just any other sect-sister. Back when Shuangji Hall had still been at the height of its fame, Zeng Qingluo had found herself the victim of bullying by some of the inner disciples. Not only was she a mere outer disciple, but she’d had no means to buy herself a prosthetic leg at the time, and was forced to hobble about. All of this made her an easy target for mockery.
Once Bian Jin learned of Zeng Qingluo’s mistreatment, she’d set about disciplining her sect-siblings with a vengeance. When she found out that it was her fifteenth shidi[3] who’d been the ringleader of the bullies, she’d expelled him from the sect on the spot.
Zeng Qingluo had not expected Bian Jin to take the plight of a mere outer disciple so much to heart. Many of the inner disciples, she’d heard, felt that their dashijie had been much too harsh. After all, their fifteenth shidi had been their dashibo’s[4] own flesh and blood, and just before their dashibo had passed, she’d entrusted his care to their shizun herself. It was true that his behaviour had become even wilder and more ungovernable since their shizun’s death. But, these inner disciples reasoned, he was still very young, and he’d so far confined his mistreatment to some lowly outer disciples who’d only come to Shuangji Hall to seek shelter behind its walls. By expelling him in this merciless fashion, they claimed, Bian Jin had shown a complete disregard for the bonds of sect-kinship that held the inner disciples together. Why, if the shades of their dashibo and shizun were to learn of this, they would no doubt be turning in their graves.
But Bian Jin did not care whose son her fifteenth shidi was, nor to whom he had been entrusted after his mother’s death. She threw him out of Shuangji Hall on the charge of abusing a fellow disciple and sowing strife amongst his sect-siblings, and forbade him ever to return.
That incident had entrenched Bian Jin’s authority as the leader of Shuangji Hall even more firmly. But while none of her sect-siblings dared to defy her openly, there were many who secretly took umbrage at what she’d done. After Bian Jin had fallen from grace, a great deal of malicious gossip had spread amongst them. Whenever Zeng Qingluo overheard even a hint of that, she was ready with a sharp riposte.
To Zeng Qingluo, Bian Jin would always be the dashijie she looked up to with something akin to reverence. No one could possibly be a worthy match for her — except for her xiaoshijie.
When news of Bian Jin and Shen Ni’s nuptials had spread, some in Chang’an had reacted with astonishment, others with the glee of spectators looking forward to a particularly entertaining show, and still others with complete indifference. Zeng Qingluo was one of the few who had travelled to the Temple of Great Compassion through the night, to offer up her prayers for a long and happy union between them.
Earlier, when Bian Jin and Shen Ni had been welcoming her and Diwu Que to their home, Zeng Qingluo had seen through the two of them at once. No one else might have noticed, but it did not escape Zeng Qingluo’s perceptive eye. They’d clearly been putting on a joint performance of wifely affection, no doubt to avoid any charge of dishonouring the emperor’s will. It made sense: between them, they’d collected so many enemies and political rivals that the slightest misstep was liable to be deliberately misinterpreted and played up by those who meant them ill. There was no telling what small detail would give their enemies the necessary opening to make a formal indictment against them at court.
Bian Jin had excused herself soon after that rather desultory performance. Now, as they walked towards the library together, Zeng Qingluo prattled away, telling tales of fantastical things she’d seen and heard during her time in the north, most of which Shen Ni had played a large part in. Bian Jin, however, seemed wholly uninterested, and did not ask any questions.
By the time they arrived at the library, Zeng Qingluo’s throat had gone quite dry, and she felt too self-conscious to carry on talking. She drank some of the hot apple cider which a maid had brought them to ward off the chill, then turned on the television, remarking that she hadn’t yet seen the news today.
She’d just picked up the remote control when Bian Jin said behind her, ‘You haven’t finished telling me about the time your xiaoshijie went to Lili Three. What was she doing there — did she tell you?’
Zeng Qingluo looked wordlessly down at the remote control. Her dashijie had seemed completely indifferent to what Zeng Qingluo was telling her, but in fact, she’d taken in every single word.
The name ‘Lili’ came from the Classic of Mountains and Seas[5] — one of the historical texts that had been stored inside the capsule from the future. The Lili[6] was a mythological creature that was said to dwell on and around Mount Ju. It was also said to have a great fondness for burrowing deep into the earth. If it was glimpsed in a particular locality, the residents there would rush to strengthen their earthworks and fortifications. In popular reinterpretations of the myths and legends of the future, the Lili was often depicted by the storytellers of TangPro as a creature that lurked deep underground, agitating the earth’s core every now and again — something it was exceptionally adept at.
There were four massive meteorite craters within TangPro’s borders, and all of them were named after the Lili. Lili Three, which Zeng Qingluo had just been speaking of, was the largest of the four. It was also the most dangerous, having been designated as an official restricted zone. This was because the meteorite half-buried within the crater remained highly radioactive, and anyone who came close to it ran a real risk of radiation poisoning.
Bian Jin’s sudden question left Zeng Qingluo tongue-tied. She felt as if she’d been whisked back in time to her schooldays: her rising sense of panic was the same as the one that used to fill her whenever she was called upon by a teacher.
Did I say something I shouldn’t have? Zeng Qingluo wondered.
‘Um…’ she began, drawing out the syllable. In the end, however, she dared not tell Bian Jin anything but the whole truth.
Since they were the only two people in the library, Zeng Qingluo said quite directly, ‘Xiaoshijie told me that the meteorite in Lili Three was the only one with the rare extraterrestrial metal she needed for a particular cybernetic chip.’
‘A chip?’
‘Yes, although I’m not sure what kind,’ Zeng Qingluo went on. ‘Xiaoshijie didn’t say, and even if she had told me, I probably wouldn’t have understood. But I do know that it’s almost impossible to get hold of that metal. On the dark web, a single ounce[7] of it is worth a kingdom the size of all twelve northern provinces.’
Something flashed through Bian Jin’s eyes. Suddenly, her grip on her cup slipped, and hot cider spilled all over her gloved hands, scalding the inch or so of exposed wrist above her gloves.
Zeng Qingluo sprang up immediately. ‘You haven’t been burned, have you, dashijie? Do you want to run some cold water over your hands?’
The cider had been nearly boiling when it was served up to them, and now it had cooled only slightly. It was still hot enough to burn skin.
‘I’m all right,’ said Bian Jin. She didn’t feel much discomfort, so she only took off her wet gloves.
It must be Ni’s Heart, she thought. In order to forge it, Shen Ni had ventured deep into the hell that was Lili Three to gather the raw material she needed. The powerful radiation that filled the crater was no kinder to the human body than the Black Box virus. It ate away relentlessly at cells and bodily tissues, and at its very worst, it could reduce a human body into nothing but a pool of foul liquid.
Back when she’d been Governor-General of the North, Bian Jin had been very interested in Lili Three as well. The activities of the Lili Three Task Force were classified at the same top level of secrecy as the activities of the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation. The more enforced silence something was surrounded by, the deeper were the secrets it held.
Bian Jin had once come across a report from the Lili Three Task Force that had reached her via some unknown source. The report contained a list of radiation poisoning symptoms, including the much-rumoured ‘liquefication’ of the whole body. There was a line in it that had particularly caught Bian Jin’s attention: ‘A-grade radiation poisoning carries a very high risk of neurodegeneration and synaptic dysfunction.’
Lili Three was, in short, a place of great danger and ill-omen. Back when she’d been Governor-General of the North, Bian Jin had repeatedly warned her officials never to go near it. She had never guessed that an intruder would one day be audacious enough to venture inside the crater, extract some of the rare metal that lay within its depths, forge it into a neural core, and install that inside Bian Jin’s body.
Bian Jin rubbed a knuckle against her throbbing temple. She was certain that Shen Ni, being the cybernetic genius she was, must have perfected a way of purifying the material she’d excavated from Lili Three, otherwise she would never have used it on Bian Jin.
There was practically no information about Lili Three that was publicly available. Yet Shen Ni had still been bold enough to risk her life in its depths.
A single ounce of the rare metal from Lili Three was literally worth a kingdom. Shen Ni could easily have exchanged it for something, or used it for some other purpose, that could give her much more satisfaction. Now that it was inside Bian Jin’s body, what could Shen Ni hope to gain from it?
Zeng Qingluo, who had no idea of the turmoil swirling in Bian Jin’s mind, went on, ‘Lili Three truly is a terrifying place. Xiaoshijie had on full protective gear when she went inside, but she still suffered badly from the after-effects — she had a high fever for days after she came out. Luckily she pulled through in the end.’
Bian Jin said nothing. Zeng Qingluo couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
Zeng Qingluo’s thoughts went back to Shen Ni on her sickbed. Shen Ni had been so delirious that she’d barely been able to recognise her. She sighed. ‘It really wasn’t worth it.’
Bian Jin looked at out the courtyard through the crystal windowpane. Snow was beginning to fall again. Her eyes dimmed. ‘No,’ she agreed, ‘it wasn’t worth it.’
***
A group of their sect-sisters from Shuangji Hall turned up shortly afterwards. They’d heard that Zeng Qingluo was visiting Bian Jin, and as they missed Bian Jin themselves, they’d decided to pay a call on her as well.
So it was that, just before noon, when Shen Ni and Diwu Que stepped out of the warming chamber, they heard peals of laughter from across the courtyard. There, on the upper floor of a pavilion that had been built especially for snowgazing, stood Bian Jin, surrounded by a bevy of women. They were all familiar faces to Shen Ni.
Bian Jin was being plied with the questions her sect-sisters had not had the time or opportunity to ask her during the wedding, some curious, some concerned. Snatches of these drifted over to Shen Ni, falling on her ears like so much pointless babble. As she looked up at the pavilion, her other sect-sisters reminded her very much of a flock of preening, chattering birds.
Bian Jin, as usual, spoke very little; for every twenty sentences her sect-sisters said to her, she would return perhaps one. She did, however, seem to have infinite patience for these fellow disciples who’d once been in her charge. A faint half-smile hovered about her lips as they crowded around her.
Shen Ni could only watch as Bian Jin looked up at one of their other sect-sisters, who happened to be standing next to her. Something the other woman said made the corners of her mouth curve further upwards slightly.
A mixture of emotions warred within Shen Ni’s chest. She and Bian Jin had been married more than half a month ago, yet Bian Jin had never given her any smiles — indeed, her shijie had even fixed her with that icy stare just this morning. She was Bian Jin’s sect-sister too, but the difference in treatment was palpable.
Shen Ni gazed at Bian Jin through the fine veil of falling snow. Her face was bare of makeup, but of the women in the pavilion, she was easily the most striking, like the moon shining bright and clear amid its glittering retinue of stars. Just like the full moon, she might seem close enough to touch; in truth, however, she kept a cool distance between herself and everyone else at all times. No one could truly find their way into her heart, much less ever lay claim to her body.
The words ‘the female emperor of Xuanzhou’ surfaced suddenly in Shen Ni’s mind.
Who’s to say no one ever did?
In the six years they’d been apart — more than two thousand days and nights, which Shen Ni had no idea how Bian Jin had spent — had Bian Jin’s pristine arms ever embraced someone else willingly, had those unsullied hands ever caressed another person’s body with yearning?
Shen Ni felt was if something was plucking erratically at her heartstrings.
Across the courtyard, a snowflake settled on Bian Jin’s nose. It irked her enough that she flicked it away with her sleeve. As her sect-sisters’ conversations went on around her, she smiled and nodded, but she wasn’t particularly interested in what they were talking about. She was much too well-brought-up to let slip any sign of boredom, but her eyes were wandering restlessly over the grounds, seeking out some point — any point — of interest in the dull winter landscape.
Then, suddenly, her gaze met Shen Ni’s across the courtyard.
Shen Ni was standing just beside the bamboo grove. The contrast between the tall green stalks and the brilliant white snow caught and drew the eye; that stark, austere beauty was a fit sight for any picture. Next to Shen Ni’s regal figure, however, it all seemed rather faded and diminished.
And now Bian Jin’s attention was fully riveted by Shen Ni. Shen Ni’s figure was completely hidden beneath her heavy cloak, yet Bian Jin found her mind sketching out those full, perfect curves she knew were there. After all, she’d spent the whole of last night with them pressed closely against her back, rousing all manner of sinful thoughts.
Shen Ni was just about to call out to Bian Jin when her shijie averted her gaze. Even the smile she’d been bestowing so generously on their visitors winked out in a hurry.
Once again, Shen Ni had no idea how to feel. Bian Jin had kept that smile on her face patiently enough as she spoke and listened to her other sect-sisters. Why was it that she felt no hesitation about letting it drop as soon as she laid eyes on Shen Ni?
Had it been yesterday, the slight might not have rankled so much. But after the news Shen Ni had received about the bone whip’s last known location, a restless, grudging resentment had begun to bubble up surreptitiously in her heart.
Meanwhile, in the pavilion, one of their visitors was lamenting that she’d had no chance to speak to Bian Jin during the hustle and bustle of the wedding. Another added that, now that dashijie was settled in the capital, they must make sure to meet more often. Some of them then began to ask Bian Jin how things had been between her and Shen Ni since the wedding.
Everyone in Shuangji Hall, including the visitors who had come here today, had borne witness to the whipping Bian Jin had given Shen Ni. Most of them felt that Bian Jin had been much too harsh on that occasion. Of course, none were aware of what had passed between Bian Jin and Shen Ni that fateful night before Bian Jin went north for the second time, nor of the jar of ointment Shen Ni had found at her bedside the day after her punishment. Now that their xiaoshimei was rising rapidly through the ministerial ranks, and rumours about how vengefully she treated Bian Jin behind closed doors were spreading through the city, they were worried for Bian Jin’s well-being.
On the battlefield, Bian Jin was a sharp and decisive commander. But faced with persistent questions from her sect-sisters, and especially since they related to Shen Ni, she found herself rather at a loss for words.
‘She and I—’ Bian Jin began, with some difficulty.
‘My lady wife!’
Bian Jin was casting about anxiously for something she could say when she was interrupted by that very unfamiliar term of address, spoken in the sweetest, tenderest tones. The next moment, Shen Ni appeared beside her, crowding away the sect-sister who’d been standing there before. The familiar fragrance of temple tea drifted up to her through the mask she was wearing, the one Shen Ni had given her on the day of their wedding. The built-in filters scrubbed the scent away swiftly enough, but the lingering hint of it — and the bright eyes that were now gazing at her — lifted her flagging spirits.
The pavilion was a small, elegant structure, and had originally been commissioned by the mansion’s former owner Prince Qin as a private space just for himself and his wife. Seven or eight people were now crammed into it, making for rather a tight squeeze. Shen Ni had only exacerbated this by pushing her way forward until she reached Bian Jin’s side.
‘What are you doing here, my lady wife?’ asked Shen Ni. ‘Didn’t you say you were going to look for me? I waited for ages and ages, but you never came.’
With that anxious, plaintive expression on her face, Shen Ni seemed like a fragile little blossom — or a forlorn little puppy who’d been frantically searching for her mistress for hours.
Bian Jin had no idea what had brought this on, but she’d raised Shen Ni herself, and she was all too familiar with Shen Ni’s antics whenever she was about to get up to mischief.
Sure enough, Shen Ni began rubbing her hands together, huffing hot air over them. ‘It’s so cold,’ she said, as she leaned closer to Bian Jin.
It was obvious what she wanted: she was waiting for her wife to warm her hands.
A stunned silence fell over their sect-sisters. Bian Jin and Shen Ni hardly seemed like the bitter enemies rumour had made them out to be. Why, most couples would have shied away from engaging in such a public display of affection!
Diwu Que, standing just beyond the crowd, made a face and let out a silent exclamation of disgust. This woman had once hunted down one of the Black Box’s abominations — a collection of corroded power cells that had fused together in the shape of a tiger — across hundreds of miles in minus twenty degree cold, clad only in a thin tunic. And now she was pretending that an ordinary winter’s day was too much for her?
Out of the corner of her eye, Shen Ni saw that Bian Jin’s hands, folded neatly in front of her, were uncovered, and her heart sank. There were many things Bian Jin was unwilling to touch even when she was wearing gloves, much less with her bare hands. Why had Bian Jin taken them off all of a sudden?
The truth of the matter, of course, was that Bian Jin had removed the gloves when she spilled hot cider over them. She’d meant to ask Auntie Wan to bring her a fresh pair, but before she could do so, her flock of sect-sisters had turned up at the mansion. As Marchioness Jing’an, the mistress of the household, she’d been obliged to play the gracious hostess.
Shen Ni froze momentarily. It seemed as if she’d chosen completely the wrong moment to make a play for Bian Jin’s attention. Her shijie definitely wasn’t going to touch her now. She was just casting about for a way to extricate herself from the situation gracefully when a fair hand laid itself across the backs of hers.
‘Are you very cold?’ asked Bian Jin.
Without any reticence, she wrapped her hands around Shen Ni’s, pressing her palms against Shen Ni’s skin. Under the gaze of their assembled sect-sisters, she brought Shen Ni’s hands to her lips and blew hot air over them, massaging them delicately.
Shen Ni’s vision seemed to narrow until all she could see was Bian Jin. Bian Jin’s fingertips were flushed faintly pink, but Shen Ni knew that couldn’t be from the cold, because her hands were very warm.
‘Is that better?’ asked Bian Jin.
She’d thought this would bring an end to the show of wifely affection they’d been putting on today. She hadn’t expected Shen Ni to take things even further.
‘My hands feel like they’re frozen through,’ Shen Ni said. ‘Won’t you blow on them again, my lady wife?’
Bian Jin looked up, a little surprised, and saw the laughter in the depths of Shen Ni’s eyes.
I understand now, thought Bian Jin. Shen Ni meant to poke fun at Bian Jin in front of everyone else. After all, she was grown up now, and even more artful than she’d been as a child.
Bian Jin knew perfectly well that Shen Ni was only play-acting, but that helpless, beseeching gaze still tugged at the heartstrings. It was difficult to imagine how Shen Ni must have looked when she was in the throes of the fever she’d contracted after returning from Lili Three, suffering on her sickbed in silence.
Shen Ni saw that Bian Jin’s brows were knitting together, and realised that her shijie was probably nearing the end of her patience. She decided it was best to quit while she was ahead. Before she could say anything else, however, Bian Jin wrapped an arm around her waist and, in a slightly unpractised movement, drew her closer, just as she used to do when Shen Ni was little.
‘How about this?’ said Bian Jin, and her voice was so tender that Shen Ni blinked, feeling as if she’d fallen into a dream.
***
Author’s Note:
The wicked little fox tries to play a prank on her mistress, only for her mistress to gather her up into her lap and pet her again and again.
Wicked Little Fox: ???
The best is yet to come!
[Highlighting this because of my strong survival instincts: Shen Ni and Bian Jin are OTP all the way.]
***
Footnotes:
- In the original text, 不夜侯 (pinyin: bu ye hou), literally ‘marquess of never night’. A scholarly name for tea, which alludes to its nature as a stimulant, the term originates from Records of Diverse Matters (博物志, pinyin: bo wu zhi), a compendium of Chinese stories about natural wonders and unusual phenomena by the Western Jin scholar and poet Zhang Hua (张华). [return to text]
- In the original text, one 斤 (pinyin: jin). A customary Chinese measure of mass, also known as the catty, which has now been standardised as 500 grams in mainland China. This is equivalent to 17.6 ounces. This figure has been rounded down here to make for a smoother and more natural-sounding sentence. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 师弟, literally ‘teacher-younger brother’. In the wuxia genre, ‘shidi’ refers to a younger (or otherwise more junior) male disciple with whom one shares a martial arts teacher. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 大师伯, literally ‘eldest teacher-father’s older brother’. In the wuxia genre, ‘shibo’ refers to one’s martial arts teacher’s older (or otherwise more senior) sect-sibling, regardless of gender. [return to text]
- In the original text, 山海经 (pinyin: shan hai jing), a compilation of mythic geography and creatures. The text, in its present form, dates from the Han Dynasty, and its authorship is contested. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 狸力. This is described in the Classic of Mountains and Seas as a pig-like creature with chicken legs which barks like a dog. [return to text]
- In the original text, one 两 (pinyin: liang). A customary Chinese measure of mass, also known as the tael, which has now been standardised as 50 grams. This is equivalent to 1.76 ounces. This has been rounded down here to make for a smoother and more contextually meaningful translation. [return to text]
douqi 随笔 