To Embers We Return — Chapter 45
***
Just as Shen Ni was leaving the directorate, one of her subordinates came up to her to hand in his notice of resignation.
Shen Ni could tell what his letter would say even without opening it: page after page of effusive prose, peppered liberally with phrases like ‘regretfully’, and ‘with great reluctance’, and ‘circumstances beyond my control’. She’d already received six such letters in the last three days, all couched in very similar terms.
It was understandable, of course. Although they now had a strategy for containing the Black Box, the directorate was still one of Chang’an’s very first lines of defence. Working here was tantamount to strapping one’s head to one’s belt:[1] it was far riskier than any other civil service department, though the salary was not significantly higher. And besides, even if her officials’ salaries were to be doubled — or tripled or quadrupled — there was no guarantee that they would stay. Most of them valued their lives much more than that.
The directorate was already shorthanded as it was. Every official there, including Shen Ni herself, had worked through the last few nights with barely any sleep, as part of a coordinated effort with the Southern Garrison and the Lijing Bureau to crush the Black Box once and for all. By tendering his resignation now, the official was aware that he was deserting the directorate in its hour of need, and he steeled himself for a full-throated remonstration from Shen Ni.
To his surprise, however, Shen Ni simply tucked the letter away, told him, ‘Take care,’ and turned to go.
‘Eh?’ muttered the official, nonplussed. ‘Director-General Shen…?’ he called after Shen Ni’s receding back.
Shen Ni looked back over her shoulder. ‘Was there something else?’
The official kneaded his hands together uneasily. ‘Isn’t there anything you want to tell me, Your Excellency?’
‘Hm? What would that be?’
‘Won’t my departure delay the progress of the works?’
Shen Ni smiled. ‘Of course it will.’
The official gaped at her.
‘But your mind is already made up,’ she went on. ‘Since your heart is set on this, whatever I say now will hardly make a difference. If I were to try and persuade you to stay, all that would do is force you to waste more time thinking up excuses to fob me off with. Let’s save each other the effort.’
The official found himself momentarily speechless. Shen Ni had a point, of course, but he was so used to the glib pleasantries and false affability of officialdom that the bluntness of his youthful superior left him feeling suddenly out of his depth. Her attitude was certainly novel — though also rather brutal in its sheer efficiency.
So she really isn’t going to try and talk me into staying. The official tucked his hands into his sleeves and walked away, feeling rather downcast.
Shen Ni stood at the front gates of the building, waiting for her coach. According to her calculations, the directorate was now severely short-staffed. And at the rate her remaining subordinates had been working, it was past time she gave them a few days off, otherwise there was no telling when one or another of them would simply drop dead from overloading.
She would simply ask Li Ruoyuan for more staff, she decided. She began composing a brief petition to that effect, and had nearly finished drafting it when Zeng Qingluo came scurrying up to her from across the street.
For some reason, Zeng Qingluo looked completely dishevelled, and was panting heavily. She was covered in dust, and there was half a cobweb stuck in her hair. By her lip was a livid cut, freshly scabbed over. A backpack was slung across her shoulders.
‘Xiaoshijie, I, I have something to tell you,’ she said.
Shen Ni patted some of the dust from Zeng Qingluo’s robes. ‘Don’t tell me you’re planning to resign too.’
‘Resign? Of course not. I just wanted to ask if I could be seconded to the Southern Garrison for the time being. Any squad will do.’
Shen Ni paused in the act of plucking bits of cobweb from Zeng Qingluo’s hair. ‘You do know that if you’re transferred to the Southern Garrison now, you’ll be responsible for chasing down the Black Box across the city day and night, and exterminating any mutant beasts you come across? They’ve lost more than thirty soldiers in the last few days alone.’
‘I know it’s dangerous, but the Black Box is right here in the capital with us! It’s killed so many people already, and everyone is scared and terrified. I can’t just watch it rampage across the city — I want to do my part to protect the people of Chang’an.’ Zeng Qingluo clutched at Shen Ni’s sleeve, the rims of her eyes red with fervour.
Zeng Qingluo’s only blood kin, her mother, had died tragically when she fell prey to the Black Box. Since then, Zeng Qingluo had not had a place she could call home. She did not covet material comforts, nor had she dared to build up bonds of intimacy with any other person, because she was driven by a single overriding motivation. She was ready to fight the Black Box to the death at any moment, and she considered her own life a small price to pay for its eradication. She was grown up now, and the obvious traces of childishness had faded from her features, but in the deepest recesses of her heart, she had not moved on from the day her mother had died. She lived for one thing only: to ensure the destruction of the Black Box.
Shen Ni’s eyes went to the cut by Zeng Qingluo’s lip, then to the back of her hand. Running across it was another deep, bloody gash. ‘You’ve had a run-in with a mutant beast,’ she deduced.
‘Yes,’ Zeng Qingluo admitted. ‘I helped a squad of Jinwu Guards capture one just now. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know sooner, xiaoshijie. But I’d already finished investigating the matter you asked me to look into, and I’ve sent you all the information I was able to find.’
‘And I’m not reprimanding you for it. At a time when most people are only thinking about saving their own skins, it’s admirable that you have the courage to put yourself forward in this way. If you’ve decided you want to be on the very front line of the battle against the Black Box, you have my full support.’
Zeng Qingluo was delighted. ‘Thank you, xiaoshijie!’ She grinned broadly, then caught her breath sharply when the movement tugged at the cut by her lip.
‘There’s no need to thank me. I was simply speaking to you as your superior in the civil service. Now, I have a few other things I want to tell you as your xiaoshijie. Would you like to hear them?’
Zeng Qingluo rarely saw such a serious side to Shen Ni. She nodded and said, her voice dropping a few tones lower, ‘Yes, I would.’
‘As I’ve mentioned before, the Black Box has managed to evolve intelligence. It knows how to think now, and that means it’s becoming more complex and even more dangerous. You’re very brave, Qingluo, but you must remember: there are still people in this world who care about you.’
Zeng Qingluo had begun by nodding earnestly, but by the time Shen Ni reached the end of her little speech, she was biting down hard on her trembling lips, desperately holding back tears. She scrubbed a hand vigorously across her eyes and sniffled.
‘Don’t worry, xiaoshijie,’ she said finally. ‘I won’t throw my life away doing anything foolish.’
Shen Ni said nothing more. To do so would only add to Zeng Qingluo’s burdens.
Zeng Qingluo began tinkering with the outdated digital watch on her wrist. It had an earlier version of the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation’s tracking device embedded in it, which she was trying to optimise.
‘Give me access to one of your sockets,’ said Shen Ni, ‘and I’ll install the upgraded version in one of your neural implants as a software module. Then you can get rid of that watch.’
‘Yes, please! Thank you, xiaoshijie!’
Zeng Qingluo had a socket on the back of her right hand, which Shen Ni had placed there when reattaching her fingers. Once Shen Ni had installed and upgraded the tracking software, Zeng Qingluo was eager to put her newly acquired abilities to the test against the Black Box. In her haste to tug the connector from her socket, she dislodged something in her backpack, and it tumbled out onto the floor.
Zeng Qingluo’s expression froze. She reached out for it, but Shen Ni had already picked it up.
It was a plush toy in the shape of an eight-legged caterpillar, still sealed in its transparent packaging. It looked, Shen Ni realised, just like the one Diwu Que had.
Shen Ni still studying it when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Diwu Que stepping out of the directorate’s main entrance. Hanging from her belt was the exact same plush toy.
Zeng Qingluo snatched the caterpillar from Shen Ni’s hand. ‘I… I came across it and thought it looked rather sweet, so I bought it.’
‘Oh,’ said Shen Ni. ‘You just happened to come across a limited edition plush toy?’
Zeng Qingluo flushed scarlet to the roots of her hair. She bowed to Shen Ni, then leapt up onto the closest rooftop.
Shen Ni stared after her. If not for Zeng Qingluo’s too-obvious attempt at an explanation, the truth might not even have occurred to her.
Diwu Que came up to her. ‘Eh? Where’s little Qingluo off to in such a hurry? She didn’t even stop to say good morning.’
Shen Ni’s eyes went to the caterpillar on Diwu Que’s belt. It was identical to the one that had fallen out of Zeng Qingluo’s backpack, she confirmed. Her gaze shifted unobtrusively to Diwu Que’s face. It was a captivating one, she thought: boldly, flamboyantly beautiful. That, combined with Diwu Que’s outgoing nature, her strong sense of justice and her penchant for initiating close physical contact with anyone she took a liking to — Shen Ni saw how easily she could have broken multiple hearts while remaining completely oblivious to that fact.
‘Why are you staring at me like that?’ asked Diwu Que, puzzled.
‘I was thinking, Mistress Diwu,’ Shen Ni replied, ‘that since you’re stuck in the capital for the time being, you might as well help me with something.’
‘With what? The city fortifications? Or fighting the Black Box?’
‘I need you to make some enquiries.’
Diwu Que said yes immediately, without asking any further questions.
Shen Ni looked up at Zeng Qingluo. She was standing on a rooftop some distance away, scanning the horizon for signs of the Black Box. It was easy to see why a reserved, lonely girl like her would find someone as warm and generous as Diwu Que attractive. What a pity, thought Shen Ni.
Shen Ni’s coach finally arrived. As she was climbing into it, Diwu Que flung her a saucy little glance. ‘Send me a message with details of what you want me to look into. And use that top-secret account, the one only the two of us know about.’
He Lanzhuo came out of the directorate behind Diwu Que just then. She plugged a pair of flying wheels[2] into the charging post next to the main entrance, then leaned back elegantly against the doorframe.
Shen Ni glanced over at He Lanzhuo, and felt more puzzled than ever. ‘How could anyone possibly fall in love with someone like you?’ she exclaimed.
Diwu Que was mystified once. ‘What do you mean?’
Shen Ni closed the door of the coach behind her. ‘Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.’
The coach drove off. Diwu Que turned around, and it was then that she realised He Lanzhuo was standing behind her.
Diwu Que scampered up to her. ‘What are you doing, standing there like a stick and not saying a word?’ she asked eagerly. ‘You’re not stealing yearning looks at me, are you?’
And so saying, she leaned closer to He Lanzhuo, meaning to cuddle up against her. He Lanzhuo, however, crossed her arms and elbowed Diwu Que in the chest, pushing her away.
Diwu Que clapped a hand over the sore spot, confused. ‘What did you do that for?’
‘How could anyone possibly fall in love with someone like you?‘ He Lanzhuo demanded.
Diwu Que stared at her, her confusion deepening.
He Lanzhuo did not bother saying anything more. Her flying wheels were now fully charged, so she climbed onto them, one beneath each foot, and shot off into the air. Soon she had disappeared over the horizon.
Diwu Que rubbed her aching chest. ‘Are riddles contagious?’ she wondered plaintively.
***
Shen Ni’s coach sped along a broad avenue. The ground was covered in ashes and dust; dried-up puddles of blood and pools of hydraulic oil lay in all directions. Every now and then, the wheels of the coach would crunch over a severed limb.
After some thought, Shen Ni had decided against petitioning the emperor for new staff. She’d only just purged her household of Li Ruoyuan’s spies; if she were to request more staff now, there was no telling whether Li Ruoyuan would take advantage of the opportunity to plant a fresh batch of troublemakers.
Instead, Shen Ni logged into the ministerial database and sent a demand for staff directly to the Minister of Works. After all, he had asked her to let him know if she needed anything, when she had been first appointed. That offer probably still stood. And even if it didn’t, Shen Ni intended to hold him to it nevertheless.
As for Zeng Qingluo’s secondment, well, there was no need to bring that her superiors’ attention. Because of Zeng Qingluo’s somewhat unusual status, Shen Ni had had to outfox the Minister of Works in order to give her an appointment in the first place. Had she not done so, Zeng Qingluo would have been barred from the civil service for life. It was only prudent to keep things as discreet as possible.
Who could I possibly ask to help? Shen Ni wondered. It was rather a nuisance, trying to come up with someone she could rely on. At the end of the day, she could only blame herself for having made so many enemies at court. She’d been back in Chang’an for quite a while now, yet she’d completely neglected to cultivate a faction of her own.
The coach drew up outside the home of the woman she’d come to see. Shen Ni got out, holding the 3D-printed mannequin of the dead boy in her arms, and stepped into the house.
The boy’s mother was a little fearful of her at first. After all, she’d seen Shen Ni smash her son’s skull to pieces right in front of her own eyes. But when she saw the mannequin Shen Ni had crafted, she realised how much effort Shen Ni must have gone to to produce something so lifelike. Tears began falling from her eyes.
‘To tell you the truth, I did hold you responsible for my son’s death at the beginning,’ she said to Shen Ni. ‘But when I thought back on it, I realised he had been behaving oddly even before that. Our dog went missing one day, and I noticed that my son smelt of blood. But I was too busy with the tavern to think much about it. I never imagined … If not for you, I’d be dead just like my little boy. I owe you my thanks.’
Shen Ni, so cool and composed when matching wits with princes and ministers, found herself feeling distinctly awkward in the face of the other woman’s gratitude. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands. In the end, she simply said, ‘My lady wife promised you she would do her best to bring him home. But since his body had already been infected by the Black Box, that was too dangerous. And so—’
‘I know,’ said the other woman. ‘I understand all that.’ She gathered the mannequin in her arms and stroked its face tenderly. ‘This looks so real. It looks exactly like him, down to the mole on his cheek. I understand why you had to do what you did. It’s just … I find myself missing my son very much these days. He suffered so much, growing up with me. He’s never had a day’s comfort in all his life.’
The boy’s mother had been putting on a brave face since Shen Ni set foot in her home, and even insisted on bringing Shen Ni tea and a platter of sliced fruit. But now, she burst into tears, unable to keep up the facade any longer.
Shen Ni disliked watching strangers cry. Being naturally cold-hearted, the sight of other people sobbing their hearts out left her completely unmoved. Still, she was aware that if her shijie had been present, she would have felt compelled to put on a display of normal human emotion, and done her best to seem moved by the other woman’s plight, at the very least.
Possibly because she was too used to playing the obedient shimei in front of her shijie, Shen Ni found herself doing exactly as Bian Jin would have done. She helped the other woman — who was quite spent from weeping — into the nearest chair and poured her a hot cup of tea. What would shijie say to comfort her? she wondered.
Shen Ni thought the matter over for a while, and decided on, ‘I’m sure your son would want you to live a full and happy life.’
The woman’s breathing caught for a moment, then she burst into a fresh flood of tears.
Shen Ni said nothing more. She simply remained sitting by the woman’s side, keeping her silent company.
When Shen Ni finally rose to leave, the woman scrambled up and prostrated herself deeply in front of her. Shen Ni bowed in acknowledgement, feeling very awkward.
As she settled back into her coach, Shen Ni gave the rensheng on her belt a little flick. It swayed from side to side, and its little crooked face seemed to be smiling at her. A good thing her soft-hearted shijie hadn’t come with her, she thought. Otherwise, the sight of the woman’s grief would have filled her with anguish, even if she never let slip a single word about it.
And now Shen Ni found herself missing her shijie. With a quick flutter of her fingers, she sent a Messenger Pigeon text to Bian Jin: Where are you?
The reply came a full ten minutes later, once she was back at the directorate. At Lantai. Is something the matter?
Oh, how cold and impassive Bian Jin sounded. What if I just feel like talking to you? Shen Ni wondered indignantly. Can’t I do that?
Though it was true that those brief, cool words had captured the essence of Bian Jin’s personality. Shen Ni could practically hear them in Bian Jin’s own voice. She was just about to send Bian Jin another message to suggest that they might have lunch together when another message popped up on her watch. It was from the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation.
Her Highness Prince Yong will be delivering a public lecture at Chongwen Academy this afternoon, it read. We hereby extend an invitation to Marquess Jing’an, as the empire’s leading authority on the Black Box, to join Her Highness in imparting her knowledge to the industrious scholars of Chang’an.
Shen Ni knew perfectly well that Li Shan now had full control of the bureau’s Messenger Pigeon account. An invitation from the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation was an invitation from Li Shan herself.
Shen Ni decided not to reply; she had no wish to go. Mere moments later, however, she received a second message — this time from Xue Pi, the Principal of the Chongwen Academy. It asked whether she was at the directorate, and informed her that the Chongwen Academy would be sending a coach there to bring her to the lecture shortly.
She’s being this direct now, is she? Still, Shen Ni couldn’t help feeling rather impressed. A neutral observer might well have believed that Li Shan was intent on kidnapping her.
She was about to send an express refusal, but it occurred to her that, given the Jinwu Guards’ and the Lijing Bureau’s recent successes at containing the Black Box, a public lecture might be no bad thing. For one, it would lift the audience’s spirits; for another, it would be an opportunity to convey life-saving information to the public.
Shen Ni was fully aware that she had committed her fair share of transgressions in the past. It wouldn’t hurt to store up some good karma, she decided. Besides, her shijie would be happy to learn that she was doing something for the public good.
Bian Jin herself was sitting at her desk in Lantai, waiting for Shen Ni to reply. She planned to ask when Shen Ni would be off duty. If Shen Ni had time later that afternoon, they might as well go to the Civil Affairs Bureau together to see about activating the spousal module.
It was a good while before she finally received Shen Ni’s reply. When Bian Jin opened the message, it consisted only of a single word: Nothing.
Bian Jin gazed at it for a while, lost in thought. Was it possible that her shimei really had just been asking her for her physical location? Or was she piqued by the terseness of Bian Jin’s earlier response? That wouldn’t be surprising, Bian Jin reflected. After all, her reply had been solemn and dull as if she’d been giving a military report.
Bian Jin thought the matter over, then sent another reply: Where are you, my lord marquess? I thought we might perhaps have lunch together later. Will you be free?
There was no immediate response from Shen Ni.
Meng Chu emerged from the cyberware storehouse, pounding lightly on one shoulder to relieve the soreness there. She poured herself a large cup of water, then seemed to realise that Bian Jin was the only other person in the room. ‘Where’s everyone?’ she asked. ‘It’s not even time for lunch yet. Where have they all gone off to?’
‘There’s a lecture about the Black Box at Chongwen Academy today,’ said Bian Jin. ‘Director Cheng has given everyone half a day’s leave to attend. That’s where they’ve all gone.’
‘Oh, a lecture? Who’s speaking?’
‘Prince Yong.’ Bian Jin had heard Cheng Zhe mention this before he left.
Meng Chu drained her cup of water in three huge gulps, and began gathering up her things. ‘I’m going too!’
The Black Box was now the talk of the capital, and townsfolk like Meng Chu —who had only ever encountered the Black Box online, rather than facing it across a battlefield — were beginning to realise that they might not even be able to identify a mutant beast if one appeared in front of them, much less escape its clutches. To them, the more they could learn about the Black Box, the better their chances of survival would be.
‘Are you going too, Bian jiejie?’
Bian Jin had an interest in everything and anything to do with the Black Box. Besides, the lecture seemed likely to attract a huge crowd, and if one or more of the attendees should happen to be infected by the Black Box, well … the consequences just didn’t bear thinking about. Since she was still waiting for Shen Ni’s reply in any case, she might as well pass the time at the lecture.
Chongwen Academy was only a short walk away from Lantai. As she and Meng Chu made their way there, Bian Jin realised that the lecture had attracted an even larger audience than she’d thought. Since it had been advertised as a public lecture, the crowds flocking towards the Chongwen Academy included not only its own students, but also those enrolled at other major academies across the capital. The entrance to Chongwen Academy was swarming with would-be attendees, with a squad of Jinwu Guards to keep order. As Bian Jin, Meng Chu and the throng around them stepped inside, the Jinwu Guards swung the doors shut behind them.
Bian Jin could hear excited murmurs around her.
‘Is she really? Are you sure she’s going to be there?’
‘It’s absolutely true! I’ve even heard that she’s going to be speaking in her robes of office!’
‘Oh my, really? I’m going to have to take so many pictures! In secret if I have to.’
‘Wait, are you two here for the lecture or to moon over your idol? If you don’t listen carefully, you’ll be dead as soon as the Black Box crosses your path.’
‘The Black Box will just have to wait its turn. If she lets me ask just a single question, or even deigns to say a few words to me, I’ll perish from happiness on the spot!’
The students crammed into the hallway seemed to be brimming over with excitement. They looked more as if they were going to meet a prospective spouse than to attend a lecture. Some of their remarks, Bian Jin couldn’t help but feel, verged on the inappropriate. It seemed Prince Yong’s recent achievements had enhanced her reputation considerably among the students.
Shen Ni, meanwhile, was sitting in one of Chongwen Academy’s inner offices. She’d been ushered there by Xiao Pi the moment she arrived, and he’d regaled her with a flood of reminiscences about her late shizun from Shuangji Hall — what close companions he and her shizun used to be, how they’d supported each other through all manner of trials, and so forth. By the end, tears were gushing so freely down his face that Shen Ni fancied his prosthetic eye was in danger of being washed away. After that, Xue Pi had excused himself to take his place for the start of the lecture, leaving Shen Ni with one of his junior colleagues.
‘A huge crowd has turned up today,’ the scholar remarked to her. ‘Our lecture theatre is a large one, but it’s already filled to bursting.’
Shen Ni felt no nervousness at this news. To a seasoned military commander like her, a public lecture was the least of challenges, no matter how many people were in attendance. There was simply no cause for alarm.
The scholar looked down at Shen Ni’s empty hands. ‘Do you not need notes to speak from, my lord?’ she asked, by way of a kindly reminder.
‘No, I don’t,’ said Shen Ni politely.
The scholar had heard much of Shen Ni’s reputation: many within the capital called her arrogant. Now that she had finally met Shen Ni in person, she could see that Shen Ni did carry herself with an air of pride, but it was so well-tempered by her beauty and her pleasant manners that there was nothing to dislike about her.
So she only said, ‘Once Prince Yong has finished speaking, it will be your turn to take the stage, my lord.’
Shen Ni nodded, and the scholar left. Now that no one else was about, Shen Ni finally opened Bian Jin’s latest message. Her eyes lit up as she read.
Bian Jin had addressed her as ‘my lord’. Not ‘shimei’ — ‘my lord’. What was going on in her shijie’s mind? She’d even suggested having lunch together, and it was rare for Bian Jin to do anything like that. Had she realised that her curt reply earlier had upset Shen Ni, and now she was trying to soothe Shen Ni’s ruffled feathers?
Shen Ni imagined Bian Jin frowning over her watch, agonising over how best to coax her shimei into a better temper. The image filled her with such delight that she kicked her toes happily against the floor.
What a pity she was too busy for lunch today. Shen Ni began tapping out her reply, resisting the powerful urge to address it to ‘my lady wife’. I’m at Chongwen Academy now, about to give a lecture on the Black Box. I’ll go and find you at Lantai as soon as this is done, shall I?
She reread the message critically. The tone was perhaps just a little too exuberant. She deleted that last ‘shall I’ — which, she felt, made her sound like a smitten schoolgirl — before finally sending it to Bian Jin.
More Jinwu Guards, all of them heavily armed, had been stationed at the entrance to the Chongwen Academy’s lecture theatre. Each person in the waiting crowd was scanned to make sure they had no signs of infection before being allowed inside. Chongwen Academy had been established as a school for the royalty and nobility, but Li Shan had convinced its principal to throw its doors open to the public for the day. Those wishing to attend the lecture, however, had to comply with the Jinwu Guards’ precautionary measures against the Black Box.
By the time Bian Jin and Meng Chu had squeezed their way into the lecture theatre, it was so crowded that they could barely find a corner to stand in. A few moments later, Li Shan took the stage. She spoke about the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation’s upgraded tracking system for the Black Box and the design principles underpinning it, as well as the most recent changes in the government’s strategy for containing the virus. She concluded by exhorting the audience to co-operate with the Jinwu Guards’ investigations. The measures that had been put in place, she reminded them, were all aimed at ensuring the safety of the people of Chang’an.
Li Shan spoke much more authoritatively than Bian Jin had expected, laying out her points in a clear and well-organised fashion. Bian Jin had met Li Shan for the first time many years ago, when the latter’s Talent had yet to emerge. Back then, she’d been a rather dull and timid young woman, with a habit of shrinking away from anyone who spoke to her, barely daring to look them in the eye. Her years at the Supreme Bureau of Research and Innovation had honed her into a seasoned leader and politician, though much of her confidence undoubtedly came from the awakening of her Talent.
Once Li Shan had concluded her lecture, the audience began to grow restive. As they whispered to one another, Bian Jin caught the words ‘Marquess Jing’an’. She frowned. The route here had been so crowded, and her attention had been so wrapped up in trying to discern whether any of the people around her might have been infected by the Black Box, that she’d quite forgotten to check if Shen Ni had responded to her last message. She looked down at her watch and saw that Shen Ni had, indeed, replied — just as Shen Ni herself took the stage amid a burst of rapturous applause.
‘Eh?’ Meng Chu exclaimed, turning to Bian Jin. ‘Bian jiejie, that’s your wife! Marquess Jing’an is here! Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘I’ve only just found out myself,’ said Bian Jin.
So. Li Shan had come to Chongwen Academy to give a lecture, and Shen Ni had accompanied her. It seemed there was already a connection between the two of them. Shen Ni had spoken the truth, then, when she claimed Li Shan would take her side. When had this alliance between them been formed?
Bian Jin found herself being suffocated by some emotion she’d never hitherto experienced. A strange ache was spreading through her chest — and following closely in its wake was the same delicious tingling sensation she’d felt the night Shen Ni had given her that full-body examination, the one that left her weak-kneed.
Bian Jin could not understand. Shen Ni clearly wasn’t touching her at all, yet that same unbearable heat was surging up within her. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying valiantly to suppress it; beads of sweat were already beginning to form on the tip of her nose. If Shen Ni were to measure her tactility score now, she was sure it would be close to one hundred and eighty.
And this time, the uncontrollable flush of heat had an edge of pain to it. Why do I feel like this? Bian Jin wondered. She was finding it almost impossible to look away from Shen Ni — Shen Ni, who had glided gracefully onto the stage with every eye in the audience fixed on her, rousing a wave of cheers. She had not, of course, caught sight of Bian Jin at the back of the crowd. So it was she, and not Prince Yong, whom the students had been speaking of in such admiring tones.
Li Shan had brushed past Shen Ni as she made her way off the stage. Her gaze had lingered on Shen Ni for a long moment, as if she were reluctant to tear them away. That did not escape Bian Jin’s watchful eye; her breathing grew thicker. The desire to touch Shen Ni — to feel Shen Ni’s skin against hers right now — beat insistently against her heart, wave after wave.
***
Footnotes:
- In the original text, 脑袋挂腰间, a saying often used in colloquial speech. It means doing something at great risk to one’s own life, similar to the English expressions ‘risking one’s neck’ or ‘putting one’s life on the line’. [return to text]
- In the original text, 飞轮 (pinyin: fei lun). Likely inspired by the mythological ‘wind-and-fire wheels’ (风火轮, pinyin: feng huo lun) belonging to Nezha (哪吒), a protection deity in Taoism, Buddhism and Chinese folklore. These served both as melee weapons and as magic vehicles with the power of flight. [return to text]
douqi 随笔 