There wasn’t, but I felt the need to say something, anything, to distract both him and myself from the forbidden sensation in my chest. I searched the room desperately for inspiration. It was messier than I had expected from someone as disciplined as he, scrolls laid about everywhere, badges of honor scattered over his desk, maps weighed under little figurines that represented navies and armies, his bed covered by so many books I wondered if he even had room to sleep, or if he slept at all. At last my eyes fell on his sword, which had been set down just beside him. He always kept it close.
“What does it mean?” I blurted.
He looked taken aback. “What?”
“The inscription on your sword. I’ve been wanting to ask for a while now. Is there a special meaning to it?”
What a foolish question, I chided myself.Do you really expect him to answer?
But to my surprise, he picked up his sword and drew it out, the blade whispering from the sheath. In the warm candlelight, the metal gleamed as if freshly forged from flame. And there were those words again:The mind destroys; the heart devours.“I had it engraved to remind myself,” he said mildly.
“Of?”
He hesitated. “The heart is a fickle thing; it takes and takes. It is easily swayed, and tempted, and made weak. Too many have fallen victims to their own irrational desires. But the mind—the mind is dependable, accurate, deadly. It destroys the enemy, not the self, and ensures that we do what we need to, not what we want.”
My pulse beat faster in my veins. Somehow, it felt like a warning.
My final test took place inside a teahouse.
When the doors swung open, light and noise instantly rose to greet us, so overwhelming I did not know where to look first: the customers squeezed into the square stools, their money pouches rattling; the servers scuttling up and down the steep steps with boiling pots of tea; or the performers gathered on the first level, plucking an upbeat melody that reminded me of wild horses galloping on an open plain. The teahouse itself was vast, with bright wooden beams crisscrossing over the high ceiling. In the air hung the rich, green scent of wet earth and moss from the drizzle earlier, and beneath that, a cloying fragrance.
I hurried in after Fanli, who strode forward in the same manner he did anywhere: with grace and with purpose. Ever since he’d informed me that there would be an assessment to mark the end of our training, my stomach had been a tight coil of nerves. I could not even enjoy my surroundings—unlike Luyi, who was clearly in good spirits.
“Finally, I can stretch my limbs out,” he said, grinning as he surveyed the area and raised both arms above his head with an open-mouthed yawn. A server had to duck around him last minute to avoid being punched. “And meet real people. Do you know what a waste it is, for someone withmylooks and charm to be cooped up in a cottage all day? Not that I personally mind it, but it’s a shame for the others: Can you imagine living your whole life without the chance to witness one of Heaven’s greatest masterpieces?” He gestured to his own face.
Fanli had not stopped walking up ahead, but he turned his head a fraction. “Luyi,” he said.
Luyi snapped to attention at once. “Yes?”
“I see you are making good use of your tongue.”
Confusion flickered over one of Heaven’s greatest masterpieces before he smiled slyly like a cat. “Well, yes, I suppose. Though if I’m being honest, if we were able to travel around more, I could always makebetteruse of it—”
“Careful that I don’t cut it off.”
Luyi clapped a hand to his mouth, as if Fanli had already unsheathed his sword, and obediently fell into step behind me. I shared a half-amused look with Zhengdan. We were both used to their exchanges now and had witnessed Fanli threaten Luyi enough times to know he would not follow through with it. Though I wasn’t so sure that’d be the case if it were someone else.
On the second level, we settled in at one of the corner tables, with Fanli and me sitting directly across each other and Luyi and Zhengdan seated beside us. Immediately, a server hurried over with menus and a stack of teacups.
“Esteemed guest,” he said, speaking only to Fanli. Perhaps it was obvious who would be paying for our visit. “Is there anything you would like—”
“Just green tea is fine,” Fanli said.
Luyi opened his mouth as if to add something, then closed it again in a pout.
Fanli saw, and sighed. “And red bean rice balls for the gentleman over there.”
Luyi perked up at once. “How did you know?”
“One need not be a fortune teller to guess,” Fanli said, tone dry. “You always choose the sweetest possible item, do you not?”
“So youdocare,” Luyi said, lifting a dramatic hand to his breastbone. “And here I was thinking that all your attention went only to state affairs—”
Fanli spoke over him, cutting the server a look. “That is all. And be quick, please.”
The server nodded and left. Outside, rain had started to fallagain in a steady rhythm, tapping against the roof and the delicate window-paper. The lantern lights of the teahouse seemed to flare brighter in contrast, and the natural flow of conversation picked up to be heard over the background noise. I examined the other customers more carefully. There were not many women here at all, and the few I could see were stuck performing down below, playing the flute or dancing as they sang. Before, I would’ve easily been impressed by their movements, the sweetness of their voices, the nimbleness of their steps. But now I saw the mistakes, too, signs that their training had been less than perfect. In the palace, mistakes would not be tolerated.
“You’ve both made observable progress in your training,” Fanli said, sitting up straight in his seat. “But for you, Xishi, the real test comes here.”
