“What?” I was expecting her to point out that I should look at the video as constructive criticism.
“It’s not lack of heart Maryska observes,” she barrels on. “It’s too much heart. An abundance.”
“What do you mean?” I sit up.
“Longing,” my mother says simply. “That’s what’s in your perfumes. A longing so intense that it’s unbearable and has to be hidden.”
My early anger deflates and is replaced by a powerful distress, as if my mother has walked in on me doing something secret. “I have to go.”
“Think about what I said, Luling. You need to come home. You need your moli. It’s part of you.”
I hang up on her, not bothering to be polite, although part of me already regrets not saying goodbye. Mom has always been more onthe tough-love side of the parenting equation, but this is too much.
I jump to my feet, needing to get rid of my excess energy, and the register tumbles to the floor. It’s not damaged, but my feelings about Maryska’s critique and Kelsey’s off-the-cuff lack of enthusiasm about my samples have collapsed to create a pinhead wormhole in my heart, bleeding my energy and self-control into another universe.
I burst into tears. The gross, snotty, wailing kind you can only indulge in when you’re absolutely alone.
So of course, midsob, a knock comes at the door.
“Let me in, Lucy.”
It’s Rafe.
11
Hua Xiaoting
1407, early Ming dynasty
Nanjing
Hua Xiaoting left her room with steps as quick as she could manageon her bound feet. It seemed the rumors were true—Zheng He’s fleet had finally returned home, laden with strange animals and mysterious artifacts from distant and mythical lands.
The courtyard was chaos as servants unloaded wooden crates and carved chests from the carts that continued to roll through the gates. Her gaze sought out the tall man speaking to her head maid, his voice booming over the din. “Fetch me your mistress, for I would speak with her.”
“Such a racket, Admiral,” Xiaoting called from the shade of the pavilion where she stood.
Zheng He strode across the courtyard when he saw her, servants scurrying out of his way. “We must talk, you and I.”
“Welcome home.” Xiaoting hid the fear his tone created in her heart and kept her voice light and playful. “You honor me with a visit.I thought you would be regaling the emperor with tales of potential conquests.”
She nodded at her maid to prepare the suitable presents for Zheng He to take back with him. There would be nothing special—some bolts of a rare silk she’d been gifted from a grateful client, said to have been woven by the legendary Empress Xi Lingshi herself, and a gold statue of a tiger so expertly crafted the animal looked as though it would slink off into the night if left unwatched. They were inadequate compared to the bounty he’d brought, but it would be enough to serve politeness. Xiaoting itched to see her new treasures: the herbs and flowers and resins and woods and spices she could craft into beauty. Lucrative, magical beauty. She schooled her expression. It would never do to appear too eager. That gave away the advantage, something Xiaoting hated to do.
“You’ve upheld your part of the deal,” she observed to her longtime friend as they walked through the corridor, he matching her much slower pace. Perhapsallywas a better term, for one rarely had friends in Nanjing. The Yongle emperor’s capital was a fetid cesspool.
“Not as well as you. My holdings have increased threefold since they’ve been in your care.”
Xiaoting smiled, pleased. Zheng He trusted few at court, and she had monitored his people and estates in return for items of interest he came across in his voyages. She had ached to see the foreign lands herself, but her place was here. At least Zheng He had more than returned her investment, judging from the riches now filling the courtyard.
He followed as she tottered into the workshop, where small bottles and jars were meticulously lined up on the shelves. As usual, her apprentices—orphan girls rescued from certain death or sold to Xiaoting instead of brothels—worked with nimble fingers as they created the bases for the moli fragrances for which the Hua family was known. The magical scents. Xiaoting’s mother, An, was busy inanother part of the compound with Xiaoting’s own daughters, though usually An would be here to teach the girls as well. An was not a fifth daughter like Xiaoting, but her moli was in high demand from those who wished to increase their bravery. The admiral was a repeat customer.
Unlike her mother’s moli scent, which was made in abundance for those who could afford it, Xiaoting’s was strictly rationed. The ability to find one’s true love would only be sold to those who could pay well, and scarcity created need. Xiaoting priced her wares high, and the profits filled the Hua storerooms.
Zheng He stood by the door, restless eyes roaming over the space, the girls, and the jars. His gaze rose to the dried herbs and flowers that hung from bars on the ceiling, covered with silk to prevent dust from settling, then down to the bowls of spices stacked tidily along a wall, some of their contents whole and some already ground to a fine powder. He was always like this, a man-size ball of barely contained energy, sharp gaze constantly assessing his surroundings for both threats and opportunities. Wherever he went, the admiral brought the power of the waves on which his armada sailed. It was his greatest charm or most repellant trait, depending on who was judging. Xiaoting liked it. She found it stimulating, like standing in a hard rain.
“Empty the room,” ordered Zheng He.
Xiaoting’s eyebrows rose, but she pushed back her wide sleeves to clap her hands. “Girls, go and walk in the garden. I want each of you to come back with a single flower or leaf to describe to me.” There was no need for them to waste time when they could be improving their craft.
