There are none like me.As usual, she kept her thoughts to herself. With luck, the empress would think she had fled in fear of being discovered a cheat. With more luck, she would let Aiai go instead of bringing her back to face the empress’s version of justice. If she was very lucky, Empress Wu would soon be too busy running the empireshe desired above all things to think of Aiai at all.
If she was unlucky, Aiai would join Empress Wang.
Fuqian left after reassuring himself that she understood where to go to meet the servant he would send. She lingered for a moment in the small room in the corner of the palace Fuqian paid a eunuch to use. Their liaison was over a year old, after Fuqian, a government official, had come to pay his respects to the then–Consort Wu as a member of an entourage of officials from Youzhou. Aiai sometimes wondered if her own moli worked on herself and Fuqian was her true love.
The thought, however, never lasted long, and eventually she confirmed what she had suspected since the beginning—the true love power had no effect on her. She assumed she would wish to share everything with the man she loved, but she had no keen desire to tell Fuqian about her gift, the same way she knew she would hide her hope that her firstborn would be a girl instead of the boy he craved. Fuqian was a good man, though, and he would take her and her daughter to safety.
She touched the sachet, sewn into layers of thick fabric to block the scent, in her pocket. She had made it months ago to give to Fuqian when she was in the first throes of a love she now recognized as base lust before it deepened to affection. She had avoided giving it to him at each meeting, and the scent had eventually faded.
Aiai sat up straight as a long, low noise sounded from the corridor, and she cursed the muttering maids. She shivered, wrapping her arms across her chest, and wished for Fuqian’s solid body.
Then she pinched herself. There was no time for such silliness. Not when she had real fears to confront. That was enough to help center her. Her life, and her daughter’s, depended on her ability to keep her wits for the night, at least.
Aiai took a breath to prepare herself for this new adventure. How odd that she was already missing Empress Wu, for her mistress wasthe only woman who understood Aiai’s power. She would be going to live among strangers, and it would be wise to keep her secrets to herself, at least for now. Aiai looked ahead to the solitary years, already seeing Fuqian’s attention wane and waiting for the time her daughter was old enough to learn at Aiai’s knee.
Her daughter’s name would be Mingyue, she decided as she lowered her head to walk down the corridor, trying not to startle at every noise from behind the wooden lattice walls. It meant bright moon, for her girl would be the one to light the lonely night of her isolation. Mingyue would make it all worthwhile.
23
Hua Guilan
Ming dynasty. Elder sister to the famous artist and poet Hua Yingtai.
Heart note //Suppress jealousy
Base note //Chrysanthemum
Mom texts to ask what I want for dinner as she’s on her way back to the store. Although I want sushi, Mom is skeptical about uncooked fish, so I direct her to a dumpling place nearby. She arrives as Ana is leaving and presses a box of dumplings into her hand. “For a snack,” she says.
“Thank you, Ms. Hua!” Ana is overjoyed. “I love your mom,” she calls back as she leaves.
By the time I get to the break room after closing, Mom has pulled out plates and arranged the dumplings on them in perfect semicircles. No eating out of containers. She used to do the same with pizza, but instead of annoying me as it used to, I appreciate it. Why not make things nice, even if it’s just for yourself? Isn’t that partly what perfume is? A personal luxury, something that has to please you before it pleases anyone else?
“How was your day?” I ask, feeling almost like I’m talking to an acquaintance. Having Mom in my space is stranger than I thought it would be. I mean, we lived together for two-thirds of my life. You’d think I’d be used to it.
Mom pours me water. It’s embarrassing how easily I’ve reverted to a child, letting her do things for me. “I went to the lake.”
“What did you do?”
“Walked.”
I take a dumpling, this one pork and chive. All of them are delicious. “Are you tired?”
“Not too tired to work on your moli,” she says.
I should have known better than to think we could have an easy conversation about what her day was like, since her conversation revolves around work and the store, which is basically work. She puts another dumpling on my plate. “Mushroom,” she says. “You love mushroom.”
I used to love mushrooms, but a bout of food poisoning in Ottawa left me with a distaste for them. I take it without comment. “Did you go anywhere besides the lake?”
“A perfumery store I heard about online.” She looks affronted. “They never heard of Yixiang, but they claim to be luxury.”
I’m offended on her behalf. “Was it Olafactopia?”
“Yes.”
“I know them. I don’t think they’re going to last long.”
“No, they had poor service and I was the only customer.” She takes her plate to the sink. “Bring me your dishes when you’re done.”
