“I cannot yet, Lady,” he says quietly, “for I have another favor to ask of you.” Hào’yáng turns to look at me as he draws a deep breath and says, “I would like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Méi’zi claps her hands to her mouth again, her eyes dartingto me. Fú’yí’s lips part in one of the few expressions of surprise I’ve ever seen her wear.
My mother is silent for a long while. A wind stirs the branches of our flowering plum tree, petals scattering between snatches of sunlight and blue sky. It couldn’t be a more beautiful day to be married.
But my heart is sinking with each passing moment that my mother does not speak. Her gaze is lifted skyward, and I catch plum blossoms reflected in her soft brown eyes. In that moment, she seems to be very far away.
Then, finally, she blinks and looks at Hào’yáng. “Might we speak inside the house, Your Highness?” she asks, then glances at me. “Alone, please.”
4
Àn’ying
Xi’lín Village, Central Province, Kingdom of Rivers
I leave my mother in the kitchen with Hào’yáng and two steaming mugs of tea. I make sure to tuck her into her bamboo chair just right, wrapping the old cotton blanket she sewed with peonies around her shoulders and placing another over her knees. She doesn’t like to spend her waking hours on the couch; perhaps her body remembers the years she lay there, prone and half-alive, a shell of a person.
I blink the memories away and glance back one more time. I, too, love seeing my mother upright and alert, seated at the kitchen table where she and my father once made meals for Méi’zi and me.
Sunlight streams through our paper shutters, bathing Ma and Hào’yáng in a lambent light. The sight of them should warm my heart—my future husband and my mother, taking tea together. But as I slide the wooden door closed behind meand make for Fú’yí’s to find Méi’zi, the only thing I feel is cold disappointment.
A hand darts out of nowhere, and before I know it, I’m yanked behind our plum blossom tree, facing a set of large, stern-looking brown eyes.
Méi’zi presses her index finger to her lips. I clamp my mouth shut and run a narrow gaze over her. I recognize that look. “You’re up to something,” I whisper. “You should be packing.”
She rolls her eyes and swats me. “I’m here to help you take charge of your own cherry blossom destiny,” she replies. “Jie’jie, you can’t just walk away from one of the most important discussions pertaining toyourlife.”
I sigh. “Méi’zi—”
“Listen to me! What harm does it do? It won’t change the fact that you’re marrying him.” Méi’zi tucks a hand beneath her chin in the manner of a scheming philosopher. “The heir to our kingdom is restrained, careful, and noble. I have good instincts, but even I can’t tell his true intentions.”
“His intentions are to win this war and take back our realm,” I say firmly. “He’s noble, pure, and selfless above all—”
“He’s aman,” my sister says with another roll of her eyes. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, jie’jie, when you’re not paying attention.”
I cross my arms, even as my stomach does a small flip. “It’s not like that,” I begin, but I’m swept away by a memory from the morning.
How do you think of me?
The answer had always been straightforward but twofold. My boy in the jade—gentle, kind, and caring—was my confidant, the guardian I came to think of as a part of my heart. And thenthere was Hào’yáng: captain of the immortal guard, my trainer, teacher, and now political ally. Stoic and cold and distant—but with glimpses of warmth that are worth all the light in this world.
Now he is both.
I do not know how to reconcile the two. So I lied to him this morning. I took the easy way out rather than try to decipher the complicated feelings inside me.
Méi’zi takes my hands in hers. “Jie’jie, you deserve a love of a lifetime and more happiness than anyone else I can think of. You’ve lived your life making choices that benefit others, protecting me and Ma and chasing after the shadows of Bà’s wishes. But Ma is safe now, and I’ve grown up.” Her gaze holds mine, and I realize my baby sister and I stand nearly eye to eye. “You can let go of us now, Àn’ying. You can let go and start living for yourself. I want you to step away from the path Bà carved for you and to choose your own destiny. Don’t be afraid to ask yourself what it isyoureally want.”
I hate the way my eyes are warm and my throat aches. Méi’zi wears her heart on her sleeve, but I’ve always held mine close.
My sister’s eyes soften as she seems to read this all on my face. “Go back there, Àn’ying. This is one of the most important decisions of your life, and I refuse to believe it should be made without you present.” She gives me a little shove. “Go.”
Then she’s gone, scampering down the path to Fú’yí’s cottage, where she was meant to be making congee.
I turn, glancing at my house, gilded by the slanted autumn sun. A few plum blossoms drift off in an errant breeze.
One of the most important conversations of my life is taking place inside—without me.
Méi’zi’s right.
