“Even if it is impossible,” she said, “that is what makes the story so compelling. Surelyyourfavorite story has impossibilities.”
“I don’t have a favorite story.”
As she processed that bland reply, the server came back with food. There was half a steamed fish, two bowls of rice, and a selection of pickled vegetables. Zhi Lan thanked him, bringing a slice of lotus root to her mouth with her chopsticks. It was braised in a flavorful sweet and savory sauce, the texture delightfully crisp. The fish was tender and perfectly seasoned with ginger and salt. The slices of pickled radish on the side were tart and refreshing. Zhi Lan sighed in satisfaction with each new flavor. Meals on the farm had always been plain—they never had such a variety of spices in their pantries. City food had certainly spoiled her.
When the dishes were done, the server stopped by with a platter of peaches. Zhi Lan took one eagerly, peeling the soft pink skin away to reveal white flesh. There was nothing better than a perfectly ripened summer peach.
She was halfway done with the fruit when she realized Shao Qing was staring at her.
Zhi Lan wiped her mouth self-consciously. “What?”
“You’re like a little girl,” Shao Qing said with a slow blink.
“How so?”
“You look as if that peach is the best thing that has ever happened to you.”
Zhi Lan finished her peach, setting the pit and the skin neatly into her empty rice bowl. “So what, just because I’m grown I can’t enjoy things?” she challenged. When Shao Qing made no reply, she grumbled under her breath, “What do you know of children anyway?” She was annoyed he kept comparing her to one.
Shao Qing was staring at nothing in the distance, seemingly not up for conversation.
She frowned. Zhi Lan still couldn’t quite figure him out. He refused to give those street urchins money, which marked him as an ungenerous person. Yet he had saved Yao’s life and he was helping her without demanding anything in return. She had threatened him, of course. But halfway through the day as they were walking through crowds, Shao Qing had waited patiently for her to catch up to him. Zhi Lan knew a thief could easily escape from a lone girl unfamiliar with the city.
If she had to describe Shao Qing in a word, it would be impassive. Heartless without being malicious, as if he wasn’t entirely aware of himself. It was very strange. Perhaps he was only excessively bland because he had a handsome face. There was no need for a handsome man to have a pleasant personality. Or he had taken a monk’s vow and sworn off everything worldly and pleasurable, including good conversation.
Zhi Lan shook her head, turning her attention to stacking the empty dishes. She was only here to get Master Dan’s painting back. It hardly mattered whether her guide was a monk, a thief, or simply boring. All he needed to be was true to his word.
So far, he had been.
***
NIGHT FELL QUICKLYand soon the crowd in the tea house dispersed, some retreating to their rented rooms, others finding lodging elsewhere. Zhi Lan opened her money pouch. She had brought a full string of coins with her, but somehow they had all come loose, the knotted cord holding them together untied. Her bag felt lighter too. She narrowed her eyes at Shao Qing, who was a small figure downstairs. He had gone to inquire about available rooms in the tea house. Zhi Lan placed a few coins on their table and went down to join him.
“How many rooms do you require, sir?” the owner, a short man with a sparse mustache, asked. “Any preference for size?”
“One. The cheapest you have.” Shao Qing kept his eyes lowered, perhaps to hide their strange color. Zhi Lan felt a pang of pity for him, wondering if he’d been ostracized for it. But the thought quickly dissipated when she realized what he just said.
The owner raised a derisive eyebrow.
“One?” Zhi Lan hissed under her breath.
Shao Qing glanced over at her. “Do you have money to pay for two?”
“I’mpaying?”
“Seeing as I’m not, yes,” Shao Qing said.
The tea house owner watched this exchange with obvious bewilderment. “Miss, who is this man to you?” he asked.
“Er...he’s my—”
“Husband,” Shao Qing said.
“Right,” Zhi Lan said weakly.
The owner shot him a dirty look. “You make your wife pay your expenses? Do you even deserve to call yourself a man?”
“I asked for a room, not a lecture,” Shao Qing said.
