“Good.” She smiled. “Now tell me all that’s happened since we parted.”
I joined her in the kitchen and told her everything over a pot of ginger tea, her favorite. We chatted through the afternoon and into the evening, pausing only to prepare supper together. It’d been a long time since I’d properly spoken with my sister, and we both had an ocean’s worth of stories to share. But I didn’t mind whiling the hours away talking and listening. For once, I was content to be still.
Focusing on my sister’s voice also helped distract me from Baba’s glaring absence. His death was still too recent, too raw, and it hurt more than the aches on my body ever could. But being with Lilan in our home eased the pain somewhat. And as my father had said, I had to believe I would eventually learn to live without him.
Lilan found me later that evening standing in Baba’s room, beside his empty bed. He’d already been buried, his spirit properly sent on to the next life. I intended to visit his grave, near Mama’s, in the morning.
In the meantime, I offered my prayers over the bed where he’d breathed his last breath. But I knew he wasn’t truly gone. His spirit flowed through the qi in my body, in Lilan’s, and inthe lives of all those he’d touched. His influence would continue to ripple through the world he’d left behind, and I was glad of it.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said as Lilan came to stand beside me. “I love corpse-driving, but I don’t want to be gone all the time, nor can I do it forever. What would you say if I took on a few pupils to be trained here at the monastery?”
Lilan thought for a moment, then smiled. “I believe it’d be the perfect way to honor Baba’s legacy. And it’ll be nice to have children running about the grounds.”
“I’d never let them run about,” I said, crinkling my brows. “They’re training to be holy servants of the dead.”
“Even holy servants need to have fun sometimes.”
“You sound like Baba.”
“So you know I’m right.” Lilan slid her arm through mine, leading us from the room. “If you intend to take on pupils, we must begin planning immediately.”
I nodded. “I could use your help getting the word out to nearby villages.”
“Certainly.” Lilan tapped her lips, thoughtful. “Do you think Prince Renshu could help spread the news? He was technically a client of yours, after all. He could refer you to others.”
I stared at her in surprise. “You don’t… resent the prince?”
“Why would I?” she said. “Baba gave his qi willingly. It wasn’t his fault. Besides…”
“Besides what?”
She smiled, hugging my arm. “You’ve changed, jie. And I suspect it has something to do with the prince’s good influence.”
“Good?” I snorted. “I wouldn’t say his influence isgood.”
“Ah, but you do seem more relaxed now, which, I believe, Baba would agree is good.”
I looked at my sister more carefully, newly impressed by her kindness. In many ways, Lilan had always been the stronger daughter. She’d never forgotten the things that mattered most, and she loved our family deeply enough to be there, always. I had much to learn from her.
“Want to watch the sunset with me?” she asked. “It’s how Baba and I used to end our day.” She didn’t addwhen you were gone on your travels, although we both knew that was the case.
I smiled softly. “I’d love to.”
Together we sat on the stoop of the prayer hall, the forested mountains rising beyond the monastery walls. Behind them, the sun hung low in the sky, meeting the peaks’ embrace. I propped my head against Lilan’s shoulder and closed my eyes. I didn’t need to look at the sunset. The brilliant streaks of red and lavender were already painted in my mind, floating behind my eyelids.
“Baba was always so proud of you,” Lilan murmured.
I found her hand and squeezed. “He was proud of us both.”
She said nothing, which prompted me to straighten and look at her, concerned. Melancholy weighed down her smile, her eyes reflecting the sunset. “Yesterday I was storing away Baba’s clothes. They still smelled like him, and I found it so strange because he’s no longer here. I just…”
As she trailed off, I felt my own eyes well. But for once, I didn’t swallow the urge to weep. “I know,” I murmured.
Lilan nodded, and it was her turn to lean against me, her tears falling warm on my sleeve. We sat there for a long time, sharing our grief in silence, the unsaid words hovering heavy between us. But I didn’t mind the heaviness.
I let it press against me, run through me like a wave, sanctifying my pain until it became something like hope.
CHAPTER 29
