We spent the entire night scouring the town limits for signs of an evil spirit. Feilin had described Master Zhang as an old man with a thick beard and green robe. His eyebrows were so bushy, she said, they swallowed his eyelids.
We searched the fields, finding nothing but rows of pathetically small cabbages and leeks waiting for harvest. Afterward, we located the pond east of the town and walked its entire length, roughly two acres, scanning for a flash of anything unusual. I even shook my bells to draw the spirit’s attention—or annoyance. Nothing appeared.
By the time dawn approached, both Ren and I needed a reprieve. We returned to Feilin’s house, where we’d been invited to stay for the remainder of our visit. As it was only the two women living there, they’d offered us their extra room, now used for storage and the occasional visiting relative.
“Is this supposed to be a rug?” Ren asked, holding up one of the woven mats that the Lis had provided us with.
“It’s a sleeping mat,” I told him before I noticed I wassmiling in amusement. Honestly, I exasperated myself. Why was everything about Ren—from his jokes to his questions to the way his mole winked when he smiled—suddenlyendearing? That was a distraction I didn’t need.
I unrolled my mat beside the wall to resist looking at Ren. But as he watched me smooth it out, he said playfully, “Should we put ours together for warmth? I doubt the candle will burn through the night.”
“There isn’t much night left—”
I glanced up only to realize that he was standing right beside me, his rolled mat propped casually on one shoulder. Flustered, I pointed to the opposite wall and blurted, “Go sleep over there!”
Ren laughed softly, tilting his head down to catch my eyes. “I didn’t mean it, Siying. What kind of prince do you take me for?”
Thankfully, he stepped back as he spoke.
“A terrible flirt of a prince,” I snapped, sitting down on the mat and pulling a blanket over my legs.
His mouth quirked sideways. “You think I’m a flirt?”
“I think nothing about you.” I lay down and flipped over to face the wall.
Even though I could no longer see his face, I could still hear the warmth in his voice as he said, “That’s too bad. I would’ve been flattered if you did.”
“Good night, Ren.”
Another quiet chuckle. “Good night, Siying.”
I woke to the smell of fish frying. Turning my head, I saw that Ren’s sleeping mat had already been rolled up and stored neatly against the far wall. Immediately concerned, I leaped out of bedand yanked my arms through the sleeves of my overcoat. Then I hurried out of the narrow room to find Feilin’s mother chopping garlic in the kitchen.
“Ah, you’re awake already?” The older woman glanced up from her task. “Your friend said we shouldn’t disturb you.”
“Where is he?” I asked, drawing closer to the worktable.
“Outside,” Feilin answered instead, walking through the front door with a lumpy sack in hand. She grinned at me, seeming much more relaxed since our first meeting, though shadows still hung from her eyes and her dry lips cracked when they moved. “He said he wanted to gather intel from the neighborhood aunties, but it appears to me he’s gotten himself stuck listening to them complain about their children.”
I scrutinized her face for any sign that Ren had revealed who he was. But the young woman seemed entirely unfazed, moving casually to her mother’s side.
“Here are potatoes from Auntie Geng,” she said, laying the sack against a counter.
“Wonderful,” said her mother. “We can use them for stew.”
“Are you hungry?” Feilin said, her attention returning to me. “Lunch is just about ready, but I can cut some pears for you.”
“Oh no, I’m all right.” I leaned my staff against the nearest wall and swept my gaze over the table, which was covered with ginger and scallions, skinny cucumbers, and a pungent bowl of discarded fish intestines. Feeling unusually unproductive, I said, “Can I help with anything?”
“You’re our guest,” said Feilin, grabbing a knife to help her mother slice the ginger while the older woman finished braising the fish. “Just rest and wait a moment longer.”
I leaned against the table’s edge, watching the blade dance up and down. I thought of Lilan and wondered about the lasttime I’d stood in a kitchen with my sister, discussing our day while preparing a home-cooked meal. Work had been so busy since my mother’s death and my father’s illness that I’d hardly spent any time at home in the past two years. Even when I was there, I was too busy planning for my next job to linger on such small, intimate moments.
Your mind needs a break too, Baba had told me. Perhaps he’d been right to ask me to take a pause. I felt a sudden urge to see his face, to hold his hand and breathe in the cotton scent of him.
“It smells heavenly,” I said, watching the two women work in companionable quiet.
“My mother’s an excellent cook,” said Feilin, smiling over her shoulder. “They say that warm, delicious foods are good for the hurting heart. I wouldn’t have survived my husband’s death if not for her nagging me to eat every day.”
