I stiffened at his choice of words. For they reminded me of my mother.
My mother, who had refused to leave her rooms. Who had shut herself away in her final days, unwilling to see or hear from anyone. That was how one gave up on life, wasn’t it?
“If you lose your will to live, it’s simple. You die,” Lei had told me. “Do you want to die? If you die, they win. Remember that.”
I did not want to die. Rather, I wanted life as the migrating birds did, flying thousands of li to stay warm and outlast the winter. I wanted life as did the wolves, who, when crippled by hunters, still came limping back for leftovers, determined to eat their fill. The naïve parts of me that had survived the war wondered if life in the imperial palace would not be lovely and delightful, like a storybook character’s happy ending. Yet the lie was as flimsy as rice paper. I could not even convince myself.
Life came with responsibility. Given freedom, I was afraid of what I might do. Could I still be trusted, I, a corrupted state traitor, who desired lixia more than air itself?
“I know the Imperial Commander’s pardon pertains only to your freedom in the Forbidden City,” said Uncle Zhou, “but I wonder if, with time and good behavior, he might lessen his restraints.Perhaps come spring, you could be permitted to visit Willow District. You’ll find our home much changed since you last saw it.”
“Why?” I asked hoarsely.
“His Highness wanted to make sure we were well equipped for winter. Our household lacks for nothing now.”
My mouth twisted. Father would have no trouble filling his pipe, then.
“How is Father?” I asked.
Uncle Zhou and Xiuying exchanged a glance. “As well as one can expect.”
“I’m sure he was thrilled to hear news of my treachery.”
Xiuying shook her head. “Meilin,” she said. “Be free. Remember what you once wanted.”
Xiuying spoke softly, choosing her words with care. I scrutinized her face, but as always, she wore her mask of polite civility. We both knew the warlord’s soldiers were listening.
I got to my feet gingerly, gripping the bars of my cell for balance. “Sister,” I said quietly. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid I no longer know how to live. I’m afraid I can no longer tell right from wrong. I’m afraid of who I am now, and, given freedom, of who I will be up there.”
As ghastly as they were, the dungeons were also safe, and predictable, and unvarying. My days here were routine, without stimulation. All I had were my memories, but even those were safe, for the past could not change. I could not alter my prospects from here.
But out there, the future was permeable. I could change my fate—for better or for ruin. The warlord had condemned me as a traitor—to the kingdom and to our social order. But perhaps my legacy could still be rewritten.
“Mei Mei, your fears are only natural,” said Xiuying. “Be glad you have them, for they will keep you safe. Fear your own powerand you will not become a slave to it.” She leaned in, so that we were only a hair’s breadth apart. “And I trust you. I trust even your basest of instincts. Remember that no matter how far you have fallen, you can be no lower than those above us both, those who occupy the throne today.”
My mouth fell open. Xiuying caught my eye before busying herself breaking apart Rouha and Plum’s squabble, once again playing the role of good and faithful mother. But this was the most subversive, insurrectionary comment I had ever heard from her.
Xiuying—optimistic, ever cheerful, the very paragon of a dutiful Anlai woman—had no faith in those who held power today.
How many others were like her, I wondered—disillusioned by the status quo, waiting for a spark of change?
It was then that I felt it—what I hadn’t felt for a very long time. The first stirrings of desire.
They had to leave soonafter. Rouha and Plum could not stand the dankness of the air and the wafting scent of rotting flesh. Only Uncle Zhou managed to linger, glancing furtively over his shoulder as Plum started a screaming tantrum in front of the guards. Under the cover of Plum’s echoing wails, Uncle Zhou said to me, “I meant to give this to you before you left for your husband’s household. Of course, you didn’t bother saying goodbye.”
“I’m sorry—”
He waved my apology away. Opening his cloak, he passed me a worn leather-bound book, its binding warped and the ink on the cover no longer visible.
“Your mother’s diary, Meilin. I found it on her body the night she drowned. Many of the pages are ruined, but miraculously, somesurvived. I tried to decipher her words but…I think you may understand more than I do now.”
With one last look, he hurried down the hall, joining Xiuying in soothing the children.
I waited until the guards had returned to their usual posts before poring over the unexpected gift. It amazed me to think my mother had once touched this artifact, had once written and caressed these pages. I did not remember her keeping a diary, but then again, there were many things that I did not recall.
The pages were deformed from extensive water damage. Most of the ink had run, but as I flipped through the wrinkled pages, I found a few passages where the characters were still faintly legible.
I plan to use him—my mother had written, in her sprawling, confident handwriting.
