Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

silver scales upon her feet
and pearls around her neck
but her heart
never shallow as the shore

An Lili wasn't a familiar name—not at first.

Having been old enough to comprehend the circumstances of my situation, I was told that I was the daughter of a general, being perpetually reminded by the maidservants and the grandiose and luxury of this life my previous one wouldn't come close to having at all. If I hadn't known better, I might even consider the slight chance that living like a princess wouldn't be so off-putting as it seemed.

Lili had been an easy name to remember; a compensation for the one I lost. Perhaps, it sounded a tad too delicate, but that was exactly the gist of it. Lee-lee. There were no affectionate monikers, no celebratory crowns and titles, just a name for a little flower girl from the little lily pond.

Lili was delicate.

Anything delicate, of course, had ingrained upon their minds that this innocent fragile child must be protected at all costs.

There was always an entourage of nursemaids flanking on my side, two capable guards trailing just behind, like bloodhounds, as per mandate of my father. I wanted the company of my own shadow than living through the pretensions of An Lili as I was being followed by servants in every waking moment of my life.

This was why I loved the gardens.

The gardens were a flourishing sumptuous place, from the shrub of each evergreen to the pink and purple azaleas. They were a temporal sanctuary, for a girl who climbed the tall cherry trees and hid just beneath the rosebushes. The advantage of being small did wonders when I raced through the gardens; there was always a hiding hole of my size, always a corner in between the wood of peach blossom and white pine.

My favorite spot was the pond, where the white and blue water lilies thrived afloat. Mud-specked and tousled, I always sat at the edge of the red arching bridge, just a breadth from the grinning stone dragons, and glanced in fascination of the koi that swam in circles beneath the lily pads.

I caught a frog once in this same lovely pond and got berated for bringing it to my chambers. Mother was averse at the idea of me holding a frog, or rather, in her own shrilly tone: a small, slimy, dirty, possibly poisonous reptile. Father, who'd returned home after a fortnight of absence, had found the spectacle quite amusing in his silence; I couldn't tell, really. Everything he did, everything he was was a calm precise man and calm precise men did little to emote from time to time.

I was two, just a shy away from being three—even though, I wasn't, whatever age I actually was—and just a taste of childhood from these adults, who became my parents, was something I deeply, deeply treasured; it was reminiscent to home.

I laughed softly at the memory. Against the pleas of my mother who wanted to rid the little vermin, Father had conspired with me to secretly return back the frog to the lily pond. He patted my head, in his ever calm words saying: "All things must come back to where they belong."

An Joon-gi was a wise man. I knew from then on.

"Lili."

I looked up, as I did a thousand times from the mention of that name.

Father was a wise man and I was years away from that wisdom, from that patience. He seemed like the kind of man who knew what to do.

I was tempted, so tempted, to ask, to say, to tell "I'm not Lili" and like Father always was, he'd know the right answer.

I rose up and beamed, just as how Lili should. "Yes, Father?"

I could tell from his slanted eyes, how they softened paternally at the sight of me, and the jaded sigh of how much he put up with my impishness. His furrowed brows were scolding beneath the rim of his hat; however as Father stood tall and intimidating, not a word of reprimand left his lips. "Your mother is looking for you," he said in measured tones, like the gentle fall of trickling water. "You should go back."

But I couldn't utter the truth. I was that kind of coward through and through.

This wise kind father never deserved having lost his daughter.

So I obeyed, wordlessly.

Chapter Text

a child's life is like a piece of paper
on which every person leaves a mark

Lady Han-byeol was the Lady of the Water Tribe and before her betrothal to my father, she had been known as the Rose of Suiko.

Mother was the daughter of a nobleman whose ancestry was almost royal, if not cousins to previous kings; if I'd learned anything, pedigree was everything in Kouka, along with the pressures that came with it. On the other hand, she came out thriving in that prestige and I hadn't given a second thought as to why. She was born and brought up with wealth and beauty and an insouciance that people would find charming.

Something did surprise me. She was beautiful, yes, but her union with my father seemed incompatible, personality-wise, like oil and water. It was conspicuous that it was done for political reasons—an arranged marriage—though it was anything but loveless. Joon-gi would be a calm tolerant husband, but Han-byeol, for her simpering frivolousness, was accommodating.

They weren't madly in love with each other, unsurprisingly. Mother would fall for different men, except for her husband, and Father preferred his quiet independence, wholeheartedly committed to his obligations like a second marriage contract; I say this, with his official marriage being the other affair. Regardless, their relationship was mutual, a sort of complacent acceptance.

The second time that surprised me was having a mother. When the realization of whose identity I had dawned to me, I expected one of the few similarities me and Lili had was a childhood without a mother. Hers, in a manner as all universal tropes did, died of childbirth; mine left.

I hadn't truly been fond of my real mother, and as little as I could scrounge in my vague memories, they always left me in a cold state of bitter loathing, so I seldom did. Although they were different and it may come off as immature, it didn't mean I began to warm up to this mother either. The moment she dressed me up, that was the end of it.

Mother loved to coddle.

And as most devoted parents always did, she thrilled at the idea of spoiling me with mountains of affection.

Silk gowns, toys, and sweets, all bundled up in colorful woven wraps and ribbons.

Lili may have loved being pampered. But I didn't.

In my other life, we didn't have much and this was coming from a family of five; three boys, one daughter, and a single father. Everything was shared and prioritized among my siblings. Always the responsible one, I hadn't been babied then and I certainly hated being babied now.

I tried to disguise my resigned sigh into a gasp.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

I marveled at the gossamer silk; silk of quality, one that felt like flowing water on your palms. Carnations, I thought. Intricate patterns of carnations adorned the silver and white trim of my pale sea-green blouse and the maroon sash that hung high on my waist. Last time, it'd been red-crowned cranes. The skirt was a soft forget-me-blue, fading into a darker shade at the hem that ruffled like waves beneath my feet.

I stared at the bronze mirror before me, a deadpan stare masked with blank astonishment. Another dress for a spoilt little girl, and as much as I would protest the price it cost, it was of little to no expense for the daughter of the Water Tribe general. Some part of me withered at that.

I held the dress at both sides as if I were about to courtesy. Then I smiled my best smile. "It's very pretty."

Mother buoyed in response, almost looking less of the graceful dignified lady of the court and more like a woman about to squeal adorable. I could tell how much she adored anything she found endearing. I was the source of this, regrettably.

"How about a little twirl for mother? Oh please, darling."

There it was again, that excited tone of hers. Mother was almost clapping from giddiness when she goaded me.

Of course, I submitted to her wishes. A small twirl and that's that. In my amazement, the dress gleamed as I spun, gleamed like sea-glass, but it was likely the gloss of the silk and the pearls.

Mother smiled. Whenever she did, it wasn't just painted lips and perfect teeth, but it made her all the more beautiful, radiant in a way that made her years younger than me. She was beautiful in that natural childlike way.

Conscious about it, I looked at the mirror again, seeing myself take after her—dark hair, blue eyes, pale skin—but I hadn't been the rest. I wasn't tall or elegant, and I had no trace of that innocence. There was a great irony to it; how I'd been oceans apart from the woman whom I resembled the most.

I grasped my braided hair, tied by a silk bow. "I'd like my hair up."

Mother tilted her head at the suggestion. "But your hair is lovely like this," she replied smilingly, never forgetting to add an assuring compliment: "the prettiest."

From the mirror, I privately admired my mother's hair. It was gloriously held up in an elaborate coiffure of five braids pulled and spun atop the scalp, forming into a crescent shape around her head. Strung with care, a pin of silver and cut amethyst hung at the base of her neck. How Mother loved her flowers; ivory-pink camellias were pinned on each side of her ears and precious saltwater pearls delicately threaded the strands of her hair, giving an illusion to baby's breath.

What sat in the middle of her plaited hair is an ostentatious comb; atop it was a large rose, petals flushed in blue and cut aptly in mother-of-pearl. It'd been wrought with curling silver twine and rosebuds, studded with diamonds. As it was placed at the center, its purpose was meant to be flaunted as both a wedding gift and a crown for her reputable title.

Although the complexity and effort poured into a one hairstyle is questionable, I thought it to be an art form of sorts, despite the sentiment of heavy coifs above stiff necks and time-consuming preparations. Regardless, Mother appeared regal and that is exactly what she'd been.

In the past, I mistook the braids of her hair as a wig however it had only been her natural hair, long and thick from years of scented oils and proper grooming. Apparently, all noblewomen were required to grow out natural hair.

To my surprise, wigs were disdained. From what I've gleaned, wigs were only worn by courtesans and prostitutes thus considered inappropriate for the aristocracy.

Another form of profanation was cutting your hair. That was by far the worse. In a country were taking care of hair was the norm, cutting it was considered mutilation, dishonor, and ostracism in society even—and the list just goes on. As much as I wanted to cut my hair short, it would be like asking for my disownment and a strict confiscation of scissors for the rest of my life.

People here just couldn't help but fuss over their hair, in my opinion.

"Besides, sweetling, you would have to be a married woman if you'd like it up like mine," Mother said, a thumb cupping her chin in concentration. "A marriage proposal should come to you when you are older . . ."

I didn't like the sound of that. One day, maybe, but I'd rather not mull over it.

It meant going through a miserable cycle and I wasn't in the mood to feel helplessly depressed at the thought of wedding vows.

I riveted my attention to Mother instead. Then I sighed under my breath. She was really being thoughtful about this.

There were stars in her eyes and that only meant she was getting ahead of herself in her musings. Mother nodded, keeping up with her imaginary conversations with herself. She went on: "You'd certainly make a beautiful bride. Hair up and a good husband—oh, oh, and a fabulous wedding!" she was chuckling now, and I wasn't a fool to not fear how there was so much heart and meticulous planning in that resolution.

And then she stopped for an interval. Blue eyes lingered on mine a second later. Smile on her lips, affection in her hold, she grasped my cheek as she kissed my forehead.

Softly, tenderly, she reminded, "But for now you are just my Lili."

Her Lili.

In this life or the last one, I don't believe both of my mothers could understand how I feel.

I sighed, and it wasn't in resignation.

My disappointment was met with Dae-ho's stare.

The man in question towered me, shadowing me under the light. However what caught my eye was his distinct white and blue uniform, carrying the proud colors of the Water Tribe. The emblem of the blue dragon embossed the sterling metal of his breastplate. Only the private guards were worthy of wearing this emblem and that meant also being tasked to protect the An family. Apparently, Dae-ho had the misfortune of being assigned to me.

Dae-ho was intimidatingly tall with a stern face, which made him the most daunting among the other guards. If one wasn't paying close attention enough, one might have misidentified him as a young placid-mannered man. He'd been older, so I was corrected. It was his reserved no-nonsense attitude and specific skillset in tracking me down that hadn't really won me.

His eyes—a bright pale green, like jade—grilled me beneath his gaze, closing after having done so; they almost looked reproachful if he didn't invariably succeed in giving off the impression that he'd seen a nuisance. "You're making this very difficult for your nursemaids, Lady Lili."

My head tipped innocently to the side. "What do you mean?"

To my defense, my nursemaids weren't always very attentive and I couldn't stand the thought of a servant breathing against my neck. They live to please, to follow orders, and I just wanted to be alone. I even suggested they take a break once but this was followed with a few niceties that I understood as euphemisms for not a chance.

As convincing as I was, Dae-ho seemed to be the only one impervious of my round-eyed guile. I chuckled. "I have you, don't I?" I regarded him chirpily, and then glanced at the vacant space to his left. Something was missing. "Se-hun is not with you."

"He is indisposed at the moment," Dae-ho reasoned, and somberly added, "a fever since last night."

I nodded sympathetically. "Ah. I hope he gets well," the news did evoke a sliver of my concern because Se-hun was a nice man after all, friendlier than poker face Dae-ho. I peered up at him, giving an excuse for myself this time. "I wanted to visit Father but . . ."

The smile on my lips became brittle. "He's left, hasn't he?"

"Just this morning," Dae-ho confirmed, dipping his head down as if to apologize. "Lord An had been summoned to the capital."

The responsibility for the country comes first before the burden of one's own kin, Grandfather Mosu reasoned to me once in the eve of my father's departure to Kuuto. There was great pride among honorable men that willfully accept his duties and to deprive him of his obligations made me ungrateful, so I learned. An Joon-gi was a respected general and an imposing lord, and his absences weren't rare occasions within his own abode.

As dutiful An Lili, I was wise enough to never utter aloud a complaint. As his daughter, I cared enough to wait for his arrival, as long as it may be. However lacking his company now had ingrained a disappointment inside of me that I knew better to never to show.

After a polite exchange of a dismissive nod, I trod away, and Dae-ho tailed behind me, four steps away like always.

I casually just ignored him.

"Lady Lili,"

"Yes, Dae-ho?"

"Your chambers are this way."

I smiled tellingly. "I know."

"Lady Lili, if you would pardon my boldness," Dae-ho said, and I couldn't help but imagine him put a hand to his chest; he was too serious, too prudish to utter aloud anything mean-spirited. A gentleman or an obliged servant, I wasn't sure. Perhaps, I gave the latter an afterthought.

"I hope you don't intend to start yet another reckless chase," there was an underlying edge in his tone that did manage to daunt me before I could ever try. "I would be forced to return you to your chambers."

"I want to go to the library," I hummed, coiling a lock of hair on my fingers. "You can come if you want."

Dae-ho abided, wordlessly.

Once the doors were opened for me, I invited myself to the library after muttering a word of gratitude.

Aside from the gardens, the library was a safe welcoming haven. Father had once told me it hadn't been as large as the imperial archives in Kuuto though to my wide curious eyes it was massive and I adored it for what it was. Every spine of literature, every scroll and tome greeted me in each corner with each page whispering of stories of time which was lost.

Finding a lacquered shogi board, I suggested, "Would you like to play shogi with me?" I took note of his patent doubt, and although I found it a little insulting, I took it into consideration. Normal four year-olds didn't play shogi, especially normal four year-old girls. "Father taught me."

I smiled proudly at the memory.

I remembered how it happened that evening months ago where he'd been home in his private study, and I, ever the meddlesome child, interrupted his silent hours alone, partly because I couldn't sleep. I wouldn't want to disrespect my Father's wish for solitude, so in return, I offered a consolation of warm tea. I approached him in small conversation, which he welcomed acceptably; he'd always been the kind of patient man that nods off at each sentence, but this hardly meant his attention was elsewhere. He was an innate good listener albeit rarely speaking a word.

However this fact hadn't occurred to me then, prompting me to randomly propose that he teach me calligraphy, which was a favorite pastime of his. Father denied this, instead telling me of its technicalities and my future practice for the art—which would be from a suitable instructor, not him. I was a bit stubborn at the time, so I suggested he teach me something else. It took time to wear him out; a no here, an absolutely not there, he was adamant.

When it came to the point he stated 'it can't be helped', he fished out a lacquered shogi board on his table and the rest was history.

I situated myself on a cushioned chair and a desk and beckoned Dae-ho to sit opposite of me.

I had to boast a little. "I'm confident in my skills, you know." I was actually good on my first try; I took pride in being a seasoned chess player in my other life. Shogi was a different variation of chess with minor complications after all. I began to set the board.

Dae-ho, like Father, had also given me a reluctant look.

"Forgive me, Lady Lili," he told me, voice earnest. "I am unsuitable and inexperienced in the game. I've been out of practice for a time."

"How long did you last play?"

"Three years, I believe."

"Oh," I tapped my finger on my chin. "You could always let me win?"

Dae-ho shrugged again, as usual.

Once we began, the game ended just as quick. Dae-ho left so many openings and it came with no calculated move for his part. This made the experience somewhat tedious. Though I would appreciate a little effort in trying, he hardly had a single competitive bone in his body. I wouldn't blame him, though. The sport hadn't motivated him as I had.

This was the third game. I moved my piece and he did the same, alternate clacking resonating the room. It was a silent affair between the two of us. He wasn't very talkative.

During our match, I was feeling a bit hungry and then it occurred to me I still had my packed treats in my sleeve pocket, which was an addition that was very convenient. Postponing my move for a minute or two, I held it out and unknot the wrap on the small box. It felt a little gratifying that I did manage to cause my bodyguard to peer curiously to my way. He was only ever curious when I had clandestine intentions to rove about or when Se-hun mentioned supper.

When I lifted the lid, an array of delectable balled rice cakes delighted my eyes. As if it had a mind of its own, my hand snatched one and eagerly placed it in my mouth. It was sweet, not the kind of sweet you'd find in chocolate bars and candy floss, but just the right kind of sweet that melts on your palate. My lips tugged up at its soft glutinous texture sticking in my molars. Mung bean paste this time, I thought.

I reached a rice cake at him, thinking he shouldn't be deprived of the pleasantries of a good dessert, but he shook his head in declination.

"It's good," I stuffed another one in my mouth, bulging out my cheeks. It was very childish, the way I spoke with my mouth full, hardly my idealized poster child Lili façade, but this was Dae-ho and he wasn't one to judge; I decidedly liked him. "Ah thoken uf ma gunerothity."

His nose wrinkled at my choice of words than my utterance. I was sure he could still understand me.

"If you say so," Dae-ho complied, taking my sweet offering in quiet acceptance.

My face split in half from the large silly grin I sported, and from the weird look in his eyes, what he saw wasn't a pretty smile—not when dark bean paste and sesame seeds were stuck on my teeth. He hadn't uttered it though his expression made an implication that I should wipe my mouth or maybe chew my food first. I was prepared, of course, dabbing my lips with a kept handkerchief.

After Dae-ho took a tentative bite of his rice cake, he seemed pleased, or so I wanted to think.

What was it with Water Tribe men being so inexpressive?

Dae-ho had two rice cakes after refusing my third offer, which was welcomed as my fifth mouthful. With all the sweets I've eaten, I was starting to crave for some tea.

"I believe you should return to your chambers, Lady Lili," Dae-ho advised, a holler from the servants bellowing the corridors. "With the uproar you've caused with your nursemaids, Lady Han-byeol should be looking for you."

"I don't want to," I hesitated, stopping at mid-sentence. I felt it at the tip of my tongue, an aftertaste of uncertainty from the palate to the tap. It's weakness—not in the voice of Lili, but in mine. I swallowed it down though it felt as if something was still on my throat, still clinging, still reverberating. Then it came out in an echo, maybe a whimper: "I don't want to go back to Mother."

My eyes pulsed wide in horror.

Detecting my discomfort, Dae-ho let his sharp eyes steal furtive glances in the library.

Ascertaining I hadn't been emotionally compromised, he stated, "No one's here."

I was reluctant at first, debating whether I should trust him or not. It'd been a precarious choice—a child's word shouldn't truly endanger a household but the risk of a stained reputation remained. The servants loved their gossip, after all. I would have held my tongue but there was something so inviting in his reticence and unbiased nature. That's what I wanted to convince myself, only because some part of me was in desperate need to talk to someone, anyone. I muttered very, very hopefully, "Don't tell, all right?"

Dae-ho was quiet—he'd always been like that. He gave me a slow nod. "I didn't hear a single word."

I tucked my knees to my chest, arms circling around them. I must have looked vulnerable like this. "Sometimes, it feels like she's smothering me . . . she's not a bad person," however as certain as my words appeared, there was the silent but that loomed in the air around us and it caught the breath in my lungs, made my confidence quiver a little.

But she's not my mother.

The pressures of what I had to go through just to be that lovely beaming child I knew I could never ever be—to be reminded everyday of it by Lady Han-byeol with her gifts and kisses. I wasn't her daughter. I couldn't be her daughter. I wasn't Lili. My hand tightly grasped my skirt, knuckles whitening. "It's just," I sighed deeply, feeling my eyes prick a bit, "I don't know."

"So you don't like your mother," Dae-ho voiced out for her with an uncharacteristic boldness. "That's not a good reason to be upset."

I vented out, "I-I'm not upset!"

Unaffected by my raised voice, Dae-ho shrugged. "You don't have to believe my words if you don't want to."

From the heat of my outburst, I tried to compose my temper. In and out, I breathed. "What do you mean?" I asked bemusedly, maintaining the steadiness in my voice. I hated stuttering. "Not a good reason? Does a reason need to be good, Dae-ho?"

"Too many questions for this humble servant to answer," his large hand waved dismissively. "I'd only answer one."

I pouted. "So stingy."

His jade green eyes didn't meet mine, but they were distant—in a different place, a nice calm place. "It doesn't need to," Dae-ho shared in a placid tone. It'd been thoughtful and gentle, like the caress of a cool stream, and I marveled at the wisdom of his words. "Sometimes, it just has to."

I was speechless, and for awhile, my heart was stuck on my throat. Even though the sentiment left my chest heavy and the memory of my mother ached still, there was reprieve in his silence. It welcomed in its quiet and unintrusive sensitivity, and I may have given in to its embrace—a small recompense for all those four years of prying servants and prodding questions.

We finished the game. I won, of course, but it wasn't so much of a victory. After being escorted back to my chambers, I never forgot to tell him: "Thank you."

Dae-ho bobbed his head in response. "You're welcome, Lady Lili."

I smiled, supposing I saw his bright eyes soften.

In two days' time, I found out Dae-ho didn't like rice-based desserts from Se-hun, who laughed apologetically for it. Dae-ho, that passive liar. Determined to build bridges, I fed him flower-shaped tea biscuits in our rendezvous in the library under the compromise of my return to my chambers, after a recent hullabaloo from the garden again. Although Dae-ho remained stone-faced from his first bite, Se-hun assured me he appreciated it.

This is nice, I realized. I didn't expect liking my bodyguards before my predestined encounter with Tetora and Ayura.

Exposition Corner:

Wigs: In ancient Korea, wigs were worn by noblewomen, courtesans and prostitutes. These were considered aesthetically pleasing, especially when the wig was bigger and heavier.

Basically, I didn't use that rule for nobility. Only the courtesans and prostitutes wear wigs.

Hair: A bit of history first. This'll be long.

Our bodies, to every hair and bit of skin, are received by us from our parents. And we must not venture to injure or scar them. This is the beginning of filial piety. — Classic of Filial Piety

In ancient China, the Han had a tradition of keeping their hair long and did not cut them. The reason for not cutting their hair was because your hair along with your body and skin were considered a gift from your parents, and damaging them was considered unfilial.

However in ancient Japan, long hair is seen more as an aesthetic. The longer and thicker the hair, the greater the beauty and nobility.

In terms of hair in the AnY universe, I made a culture where taking care of your hair is an absolute must. Like what's mentioned above, long hair is regarded as important, especially by the nobility. Cutting hair, on the other hand, varies on different regions in Kouka. Like, for example, the Wind Tribe isn't as uptight in cutting hair like the other tribes, such as Water, Sky, and Fire. Though, I should mention that there's nothing wrong with an occasional trim. There is a required certain length of hair for it to be manageable, especially when styling it.

There is the case of status: nobility values long hair, but soldiers and workers may be required to shorten them. Commoners aren't also required to lengthen their hair. However, the applicable rule for everyone is that unkempt hair is considered uncivilized.

Married women have their hair up while unmarried women keep it down however there are no prohibitions for unmarried women to tie their hair into low ponytails and buns. Jewelry and ornaments on hair, especially when it's made of expensive metals are only worn by nobility and royalty. In the Earth Tribe's case *cough*LadyYun-Ho*cough*, it'll be explained in later chapters. But it's nothing big, it's just a regionalism thing.

I just can't overlook this, especially when it comes to Yona. When Yona's hair was cut, it just didn't symbolize her change, but also, in a way, it meant her banishment after Soo-won took over.

Chapter Text

birds of a feather flock together
people of a mind fall into the same group

The first time I met that boy, I'd been three.

It was snowing that day; the gardens a white tableau frozen in time.

I trudged through the beaten snow, leaving my footprints on the thickening frost, footprints so tiny from afar that it vaguely reminded me from that of an ant's that climbed atop a mount of crystalized sugar. The tracks marked my trail and this exposure meant that I was going to be found soon in a cold shriveling corner.

I awed at icy dew on frayed grass and the icicles on the edges of the roof, the way they just sparkle against the light. Everything else, I disregarded. The gardens didn't appear alive on my eyes, its breath wintry and shuddering as with slumber. The colors were too dull and lurid—shades of gray and white and black—like the ink wash paintings in Father's various art collections.

There was a quaint fragility in the washed-out scenery that I wasn't fond of. The cold took many a thing; the flora and my favorite cherry tree, which was twisted and brooding in a coat of rime and waning pale pink blossoms, its shadow wading on the pond.

I was wandering at the yard, nearly freezing despite the heavy articles of clothing wrapped around me. I blew a sigh on the tips of my reddening fingers, smiling a little from the forming puffs. I didn't want to go inside yet and I didn't remotely care that my nursemaids and parents spoke against it. I utterly disliked being cooped inside my bedchambers, more so than being out here in the cold.

Better I stayed here for awhile, just for some fresh air. I was going to be returned back there anyway.

So I waited. It's only a matter of time until my bodyguards caught wind of my disappearance.

As I swanned around, my eyes discovered a figure from afar.

From the looks of it, there was a boy hunched over the hawthorn bushes. He stood out in his overlarge servant's uniform and swarthy complexion in my periphery. Once I stepped closer, I peered at him from the deutzia shrubs. Lili was never near a boy before, much less close to her age bracket, which explained her puppy-like curiosity and her nescient preferences for older men.

Anyway, he was such a strange boy too. He was poking a caterpillar—a little plump thing that shouldn't survive a day in this clime—and the most peculiar thing was that he anticipated for its reaction. I was certain it was dead and the boy was none the wiser. Funny, the way his brows furrowed like that. Like there was something more going to happen.

It's that innocence I lacked in this toddler's body. He appeared older than I—six or seven? Somewhere there.

I closed myself near Caterpillar boy out of fascination and a little experiment. Glancing to his side, I did manage to rivet his attention. He ignored my presence at first, prodding on the curled insect on the branch, and after a few intervals later, he sent me a considering look, dark eyes inspecting me from the ruffle of my dress to my forehead. There's this blatant message in his gaze I could interpret as 'why areyou here?', and from his appraisal, he really didn't seem to recognize me.

That wasn't the odd thing. It's the fact that I haven't met someone for so long without an initial spoken word.

We were awkwardly staring at each, like gawking another child for the first time.

He was the first to act, though. Plucking out the caterpillar from the branch, he flashed it to my face, coupled with a woooh sound from his lips, in a fruitless attempt to scare me. He looked like he was about to snicker though the impish amusement sucked out of his face upon witnessing this supposedly easily frightened girl give him an inquisitive brow and a reaction so boring that it was better off compared to a dead fish.

I wasn't impressed and so was he.

After giving the insect a shake—making me ponder if he believed it was still alive—he returned it back to its rightful branch. Standing before me in an arm's length distance, he poked my nose. "Long face."

I didn't know what came over me when I rubbed the spot he touched. It didn't even hurt. "Am not."

"See," Caterpillar boy smirked this time, a smirk that showed the gap in between his two front teeth. "Like this," he pulled down his face with his hands, mouth in a deep wrinkled frown as to provoke me in a poor excuse of an imitation of my so-called long face. He was obviously exaggerating, and my countenance was far more adorable than that.

He's just baiting, I counseled to myself. I crossed my arms in slight irritation while he jeered on.

Before I knew it, all reason and patience was lost in me, and I impetuously crouched down, spattering a handful of snow on him. This caught him by surprise. He immediately dropped his shenanigan, brushing away the white flakes on his dark hair. When his foot took one step forward, he sized me up from head to toe as if he was going to pick a fight.

It was from his stare alone, I could tell. This boy lived for his scuffles and bruises.

His mouth stretched wide into a toothy grin.

I instinctively took a step back. This didn't mean withdrawal for my part, a semblance of preparation, maybe.

Once the first snowball was fired, it was all a rough-and-tumble tussle between us.

I'd have some good shots and he'd have his. I aimed at his face and he went for my arms. A hit here, a bull's eye there. We were chasing each other recklessly. Of course, he had the advantage in this game, being faster and taller, which I did note bitterly in comparison to my short stubby legs. The dress didn't help either, and before I knew it, I tripped and landed on my chin, hurling down in a rustle of skirts and wild mop-like hair.

His fingers plucked my fallen hairpin from the snow; however instead of returning it back to me, he brandished it around like some trophy with a stupid cheeky smile on his mouth. It did come off as a bit immature and I was almost demanding an apology in my silent chagrin. Though I realized he was a child, just a boy—and boys weren't going to hold you by the hand and tell you they're sorry. They could be a little mean, a little daft, but maybe it was better that way.

Perhaps, it'd been because of his guiltless childishness or his lack of manners, I'm not sure. Having someone not curtsy and mumble a thousand apologies for their inferiority before me brought a pleasant feeling in my chest. I liked this jerk for that.

However that didn't mean the score was settled between us.

I grabbed him from the ankle and he came toppling down next to me in a hideous crash.

The hairpin remained lost in the snow and I started to not care about it. Caterpillar boy was silent for awhile until he flopped back, making snorting noises from the back of his throat. He was trembling and I found myself doing the same alongside him.

As we lay there on the frigid ground, we burst out in laughter.

Beaming, he rubbed the corner of his eye. "You're not bad, long face."

"You too," I humored him. "For a kid."

He gave me an accusing look but there was still an amused curve on his mouth. A gap in between his two front teeth. He wears a big smile, I observed. Funny, I think I'm getting used to it.

His eyes met mine; they were dark like charcoal and full of mischief. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I shrugged noncommittally.

"Hmph, whatever," he mumbled, hand raking his snow-covered hair. "Name's Haru by the way."

I blinked at him. Caterpillar boy was so forward for a normal Water tribe child. Introductions were usually first initiated with a coy question from my past observations. Regardless, I still preferred this informality between us and I couldn't help but contemplate if it would ruin it by saying my name. An Lili. The daughter of your master, Lili. Should I?

However, the exchange was set, and as much as it would bother me if he called me young mistress, he was eagerly waiting for a response.

I opened my mouth.

"Lady Lili."

From the utterance of my name, we both rose immediately from our positions, as if we were almost caught in the act of trouble-making.

Just a few feet away from us, my eyes spotted a head of flaxen hair. Se-hun, I absentmindedly thought. He drew himself closer with a placid expression, Dae-ho trailing behind him. I never truly understood how but there was always something so consoling in the air Se-hun had. He was amicable, and although I would have distinguished it for politeness, he'd been kinder to me than most.

Dae-ho noticed me shivering from the strong gust. Wordlessly, he unclasped his blue cape and draped it around my shoulders. It'd been heavy, but I appreciated the sentiment, savoring its warmth.

"There you are," spoke a woman behind us, who I did recognize as one of the servants from the palace. She was young, jaded almost, and from the look on her face, patently concerned. She rushed over to Haru's side.

Her hands cupped his face as she kept inspecting the scratches on his cheeks, in which he frustratingly attempted to pry away. "I was looking for you, you—" she wavered at the sight of me, and in an instant, she bowed to her waist, pushing the boy down with her through a hand on his back to imitate the curtsy. "If you could pardon my son, I raised him better but he comes out being dumb—"

Rolling his eyes, Haru muttered under his breath, "If I'm dumb, I must've got it from you."

"—and reckless," she finished, reprimanding him: "shut that runnin' mouth of yours, you twerp."

I whispered to Se-hun's ear to pardon them. "Lady Lili is fine," he spoke for me reassuringly. "There is no need for apologies."

They bowed respectfully once again. "We are grateful. If you could excuse us."

I nodded in acknowledgement.

From a measured distance, his mother dragged him along her stride, pinching his ear.

"Ow!" Haru whined, keeling. "Ma!"

"Don't you Ma me!"

Glancing down at me, Se-hun greeted me with his calm smile. "Did you make a new friend, Lady Lili?"

I wasn't certain so I meekly avoided the question.

Afar I could still hear his mother chiding him for not knowing his place, adding an insistent "you should have worn something warmer, you idiot!", and Haru, with just as much nerve as his mother, would utter aloud a wisecrack of his own, which only earned him an earful of berating. They were distant figures in the vast whiteness, bickering and huddled together. Something about that made my lips quirk. Made me nostalgic.

That was until my hands cupped my mouth and a giggle found its way passed my lips.

My bodyguards shared a look. More vocal of the two, Se-hun asked, "Lady Lili?"

I shook my head, the gesture dismissing. When I turned back, I remembered to grin just as wide and wild as his was.

I called out his name.

"—Haru?"

I found him impatiently peering at me from the latticed shutters, mouthing me to hurry up. I did what was necessary; waving him to leave, in which he replied with rolled eyes and a huff. I bit back a laugh as he stomped away. It was amusing to look at a grumpy Haru.

Honestly, it was the only fresh breath of air from the Long Room's—or what I labeled, the palace nursery's stifling environment. For the most part of the day, I was entertaining children, who had spent their evening in leisure and harmless sport. Mother expected me to interact in which I miserably obliged.

Dae-ho hadn't been around. I could notice Se-hun from the isolated corner of the room, appearing quite withdrawn himself.

For awhile now, I'd been toying with the string of my perfume pouch. The fragrance of spiced aniseed was my only tolerable companion.

Walking towards a familiar face, I asked, "Chan-mi, where is my mother?"

The maidservant regarded me with geniality. Chan-mi was Haru's mother after all. "Lady Han-byeol is hosting the guests at the Summer House."

The Summer House was a grand pavilion from the west of the keep; it was detached from the main palace, situated at the base of the man-made lake. I had always seen it from the west gardens, elevated alongside the weeping willows in a manner that made itself imposing and almost ethereal, connected back to the shore only through a long arching bridge painted in carmine. From that distance, the structure was beautiful with its high beams and slanted color-glazed roofs.

However the realization hit me that I had never been inside of it. It was a special building with a specific purpose to receive guests, though unlike the antechambers and tea houses, it'd been reserved for gentry. I was a daughter of noble birth but I hadn't reached fourteen years yet to be accepted within the peerage of the elite.

I frowned. To be reminded I was still a child did annoy me.

"I see," I nodded thoughtfully. "I would like to return back to my chambers."

"Of course, Lady Lili." Chan-mi dipped her head. "I shall fetch for your nursemaids."

As I was led out of the Long Room, I sighed in relief. But strolling through the corridors with my retinue, a lingering sentiment still crept at the back of my mind.

Lili didn't have friends.

She was far too closed off in a palace so large and grand—a castle made of clouds atop the high blue skies, and it's lonely.

Within my bedchambers, my nursemaids had fulfilled their tasks to attend to my needs; undressing me from my gown, bathing me, frocking me into my nightwear—it'd been the same pattern I had grown accustomed to in this extravagant life. Once I bid to be alone to rest, which I took note came with slight reluctance from my servants, they acceded to my wish.

Of course, when I was left to my own volition, I had every intention exploiting that.

Disrobing into the simpler clothes that I kept hidden beneath my bed, I felt the rough fabric slip on my skin. It did itch however what made up for it was that it counted as a decent disguise. Noticing the thread unravel from my pants, I recalled amusedly how I had to go through lengths just to scrounge for this outfit. From the mirror, I knew I couldn't pass for a boy but the illusion it gave when my long hair had been tied and tucked beneath my robes was better than I anticipated.

With a final confident glance, I sneaked through the hidden door behind my dresser. It was one of the many secret passages that the palace had installed decades ago on the off chance it may be used. In my case, this provided an opportunity for me to escape from my own room if need be. As I continued treading through the dark, the open pathway at the end greeted me with heat and smells of cooking fires and hot steam and smoke. Pushing aside the barrels that obstructed my exit, I stepped into one of the boiler rooms from the lower grounds.

A loud sigh resonated in the supposedly unoccupied room. "Took you long enough," Haru said tediously, sitting at a small stool near the furnace. There was a smudge of charcoal on his chin.

After placing back the barrels into their rightful stations, I patted the dust from my pants. "Let's make this quick before Dae-ho notices."

Haru snorted at my comment, lazily standing from his chair. He did always have little to no patience when it came to my meddling. Of course, I took advantage of the fact that he still forgave me for it. I smiled at him.

Shoulder-to-shoulder, we strode together.

"Hey, are you sure about this?"

"Hm?"

Haru unnecessarily specified: "Going outside."

My brow arched. "Yeah," I could feel my lips curl into a wry smile. "When were you ever worried before?"

"I'm not worried," Haru told me, scratching his cheek. "It's just that I don't want to get in trouble if you get lost or something like that."

"Nah, you won't," I waved my hand insouciantly. "I'll vouch for you," and then I sent him an assuring wink, which he rolled his eyes in response. "Did you tell your mother you're sneaking out again?"

"Nope," Haru said before pointing an accusing finger at me. "Stop mentioning my ma. You don't tell your parents anything."

"They're not supposed to know," I casually ignored his skeptical glare, running a hand through my sleeve. "C'mon, just show me outside," I nudged my elbow to his rib. It was a friendly jab.

Haru blew out a sigh, a soft whistle piping through his gap teeth. "Your friends must sure be a bore in there."

"They're not my friends," I corrected him. "They're timid. The others are snobs. Can't blame 'em. Those are the perils of the privileged."

"Privi—what?" Haru failed to pronounce. He'd always been clumsy in his speech. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I sent him a half-hearted shrug. "Just means you can do whatever you want if you're filthy rich."

Haru made an awed sound from his mouth. "Must be great," he grinned, almost dreamily. "Being rich and all. I'd like to be one when I'm older."

"Not really," I sighed under my breath. "That's purely subjective."

"Subje—what?"

"Oh nothing."

"Stop that fancy talk," Haru berated. "Can't understand a word you're sayin' sometimes."

I beamed at him. There was really something to love in his crudeness.

The day I step foot outside made me feel more alive than being behind the walls of Suiko Palace.

"What was that, Mother?"

Her elegant hands wove through my hair, her fingers pleating the locks into a braid. It was a habit of my mother's—and if my memory rung true, the only one which involved her partaking in dolling me up. There were always her handmaidens to beckon for dressing and serving me shaved ice desserts and candied fruits. She sat behind me with her billowing sleeves encircled around my frame. I sniffed. She'd always smelt like rosewater and lilacs.

Mother brushed a thick portion of my hair. "I thought that I may introduce you to Lady Yong-hi's son."

I tamped the urge to grimace at that. I wasn't in the appropriate age to meet a matchmaker—let alone, was I not properly introduced in society yet to socialize with young lordlings. Such a crucial matter wasn't a hindrance to my mother. She may as well be my matchmaker with the manner she orchestrates these play dates for me; spruced in a lavish gown and trained to be courteous and pleasing, it was an intentional set-up to meet my potential suitor.

For all her flamboyance and flippancy, Mother was a cunning woman.

Mother chuckled softly. "You must surely like him, sweetling," she pulled out a ribbon, knotting it on my hair. "He is a charming boy, so polite, and his smile is endearing. His very much like his mother, that boy."

Mother always shared her compliments to whomever that boy I was to receive—like that last one who had lovely eyes or that other one who'd been impressive with the bow. One of these days, I might just wear out from these proposals. Those children were almost intolerable.

"He's a prince, you know," Mother mentioned, which did surprise me. None of the noble children I'd met had been royalty, and from her ecstatic tone, I took note that she hadn't been exaggerating on this one.

Mother told me his name. For once in my life, I felt the strong urge to scream.

"Five days from now, take me anywhere," I deadpanned to an oblivious Haru. "Anywhere but here."

Haru had been picking leaves from the bush clovers, which I should have sooner scolded him for if I hadn't been so frustrated. The foliage of the gardens offered enough privacy for us to meet in secret. "Uh, Lili . . ." he started, confused. "I can't just take you anywhere. Not on that day. Besides my luck's out, Ma knows."

Understanding his predicament, I muttered, "Shit."

Unbothered of my cussing, Haru went along with it. "Right? Real shit," he waved his hands, kicking his heels back on the grass. Chan-mi was frightening when she was upset. "Anyway, what's this about? Is there something going to happen on that day?"

"Yes," I swallowed a breath, mumbling: "well, I'm . . . meeting someone."

"Ohhh, they're gonna marry you off, aren't ya?"

"No," I shook my head. "I just don't want to meet . . . that person."

His brows scrunched. "Hm? Is it a bully?" Haru asked, crossing his arms. "I could knock out his teeth if you want."

Unable to repress a smile, I almost snickered at that. "I doubt you could."

His chest puffed out in confidence and he was flaunting off his fisted hand, all fresh torn knuckles and chafed skin. Before questioning where he'd have attained his new scars, I found myself more concerned if he'd taken care of them properly—or worse, if they were infected. Haru always had this bad habit on spitting on his wounds—in a really poor attempt to appear cool—without cleaning them. I mentally noted to myself to inform his mother about this matter.

Grinning from ear to ear, Haru declared arrogantly, "I have the Fist of Fury, 'course I could."

I was more surprised that he knew what fury meant than the actual make-believe technique. Good for Haru.

"Sure you do," I humored him wryly. "No, he's not a bully."

Haru cocked a brow. "Pansy then?"

"Dunno."

"Is it even a boy?"

"You're just asking that after referring to him as a he?"

Haru shrugged. "I assumed."

I sighed, folding my arms to my chest. "Well, you assumed correctly."

"Oh," and then his expression lit up like a lantern, elucidated, and when those round wide eyes locked onto mine, I had the faintest suspicion that he had mistaken me for the wrong impression. "Oh. I see, you like him, don't you? That's got you all bothered," Haru speculated in a telling tone—deriving that bit of knowledge from his own mother, who'd had her own share of experiences—and with that realization, his brows scrunched together and he appeared rather vexed.

Ironically, I should be the one wearing that look. Really, this boy.

His hand scratched the back of his head; a gesture of open annoyance and refusal. "Hey, just so you know, I won't deal with your girl problems. That's not my style," Haru stated out bluntly. "Ma's a handful already in the yappin'."

I scoffed. "I don't like him. No, actually, I don't know him," it was half a lie and half the truth, and with all this insincerity I'd been upholding to him, I consoled myself through musing that there were such matters that should be kept for the best. As much as I believed that he wouldn't truly grasp this situation of mine, I overestimated my will to maintain the façade of Lili from this boy, who'd been nothing more but an honest confidant of mine.

He'd been a good friend after all. For all my justifications, that pinch of guilt remained, reminded, and remembered.

In compensation, I admitted to him, "I just don't want to meet him."

We're not supposed to meet this early.

His dark eyes flashed me a quizzical stare. "Why don't you want to meet him?"

My lips pursed. "I just don't."

On that fateful day I hadn't met Soo-won.

From the missive Mother received, Lady Yong-hi had caught a fever on the occasion thus making our encounter postponed.

I, however, anticipated for it to never come.

Exposition Corner:

Lili's Status: In her case, being a child of a nobleman doesn't exactly classify you as a part of the aristocracy with an exception to members of the royal family.

Since children of noble houses rely on their parents, they are instead being trained and educated in preparation for it before their traditional coming-of-age ceremony (which I will explain soon), where they are to be properly introduced to society and acknowledged for their status as a lady or lord of their representative house. This is a custom required to be done for children in the age fourteen.

Due to this reason, children don't always actively participate in formal gatherings, except when ceremonies and festivities are involved. However this doesn't limit bringing children to house visits when invited by a family member or a friend. It's not uncommon for parents to set-up "play dates" in meeting up children for the possibility of a potential match, especially when it still lies within the borders of propriety.

(I know I owe you all an explanation about how marriage works here but I'll elaborate it on future chapters.)

Chapter Text

a tiger father will not
beget canine sons

Atop Father's shelf lay an antique box of polished cinnabar, inlaid with white jade, lapis, and soapstone. On the woodwork, the scenery of a water garden could be viewed from the graceful form of a willow tree and the lily pads that stay afloat over the shallow pond; there was a heron, elegantly bent, the light catching its pale withdrawn wings. Wouldn't it have been a lovelier sight if it took flight instead?

The box was an old thing, I knew. A relic of foregone dreams.

It felt more like a reminder now. There was a time Father dreamt of being a painter. How he was closely acquainted with his inkstones and fox-hair brushes, his mineral pigments and his watercolors, and even the gold powder kept on the small porcelain jar. There were always the telltale passions that surfaced beneath the calmness of his voice whenever he imparted his knowledge over this matter; such as the time he shared about the hangings on his walls, the inkwash paintings and calligraphies commissioned from renowned artists. He was an admirer of each and every one.

Father had studies and paintings of landscapes however he never had the heart to finish them. They were abandoned, and for years, forgotten. "But why didn't you become a painter, Father?" I asked at that time. He had the skill for it, and unlike most, he was from an influential background that provided him enough wealth and recognition in aiding him to pursue such dream.

For awhile, it seemed like an unvoiced emotion rippled from him; breath drawn, crease of the lip, shoulders ever so slightly dropping. Father wasn't brooding, but the latent pensiveness rolled off in waves. I pondered then whether he stole a glance at me or the box from the shelf. "I am not meant to be one, my dear," he started in somber contemplation. "There may come a time that you must realize that . . . there are certain paths we must lead, and where I tread is where I must be," and then with slight hesitation in his voice: "even if it means drifting away from another."

I would have protested if the words hadn't struck a chord. How much must I change—or do I change at all, for this lifetime and the destiny of these unknowing people? I'm insignificant, but how am I supposed to say that if my very own existence was an anomaly? I just wanted to be who I knew I am, instead of a little girl's name that I unwillingly had to live through.

It must have been days when I came to the realization that it was expectation that robbed him of that dream and his passivism that killed it. It was raining at that time. The strong gale threatened to terrify me from the window, but even the thunder couldn't reach my ears when I willed myself to speak: "but we have to try . . . we always have to try."

From the open veranda of the dining hall was a view of Mother's gardens; a great deal of landscaping could be found by a glance with the shrubs and lawns regularly maintained and the flowers abloom. The white camellias this year were eye-catching, however Mother's peach blossom trees were truly a sight to behold, its rich red-and-pink buds shivering from the spring rain—obstructed partially by the twisted purple maple branch near the porch.

The winds had been gentle in this time around, sweeping in with sweet floral notes among the chaffing dishes prepared for luncheon, that variegate from glazed meats and seafood and vegetables, briny stews and soups, coupled with a medley of sauces and bowls of rice. I'd always been amazed at the variation of each meal made; the amount of effort was ridiculous but the An family was something akin to royalty in Suiko and that meant the best was demanded.

"Lili, you hadn't touched your prawns," spoke Mother, as she graciously held her tea. I took a cursory glance at mine, which was still steaming from its eggshell blue cup. Mother's tea always had a pleasant aroma to it. There were scents of citrus flower and honey, even though there'd been a strong taste of cornelian cherry.

I dipped my head and took a bite on a spiced prawn, the heat from the garlic and red pepper sauce settling on my tongue. I chewed thoughtfully. There were fish cakes in my line of sight, sided with braised tofu. My silver chopsticks snapped in anticipation.

In celadon ceramic, a bottle of wine had been untouched across the table. Father wasn't the sort to consume alcohol, much less indulge in it. Mother preferred her special teas. Sometimes, I simply found its presence a tad too tempting. I wouldn't hold back a drink, even if I were in the body of a child.

Of course, under the jurisdiction of my parents, it was impermissible for a little girl.

"Father," I began, after dabbing my mouth with a napkin, "how was your stay in the capital?"

After having eaten his scallops, Father replied, "It was fine."

"You always say that," I said smilingly in a familiar tone. "Is there nothing of interest?"

"Not quite, I believe," Father considered, musing. He rested his utensils on the table. "Though I thought this might interest you," telling her this, he gestured a servant to my side bearing a present, "it reminded me of you when I went to the capital. I hope it is to your liking."

Once I received it, it felt heavy, flat, and wide with a width larger than my palms. I placed it on my lap, disentangling the knot from the cloth wrapping.

Ever since I'd been younger, Father always gave me gifts whenever he returned from Kuuto. They were thoughtful gifts, practical ones. Perhaps, he'd known that I may have outgrown frivolous presents such as dolls and hairpins; moreover, my mother's choice in trinkets far surpassed his. The sentiment hadn't sounded farfetched with my ever-precocious mind present and active.

Before my eyes was a lacquered box, its surface lustrous in black with inlaid mother-of-pearl. My fingers traced over the sickle silver moon, the latticed twine of ivy and magnolia, and the wisped feathered figures of two cranes with its curved heads stretched up on the lock in the shape of a silver dragon head.

Upon opening the lid, there were three calligraphy brushes lifted and clasped in a rack at the upper half of the box; its heads soft and pointed, fine bristles made from rabbit hair, while the shafts were of smooth ox bone, engraved with motifs of spiraling blue dragons at the handles. The lower portion consisted of a square inkstone and two blocks of ink sticks.

It'd been overmuch, but still. Father said it reminded him of me, and I couldn't tamp the urge to smile.

"It is wonderful, Father," I told him in a grateful tone, closing it with the lock. The dragon head seemed to grin. "I appreciate it very much. Thank you."

Even Mother couldn't disguise the genuine approval of her face. "It is truly an impressive gift," she remarked. "You have outdone yourself."

"I had intended for it to be a birthday gift in the summer," Father admitted.

"I suppose a master should instruct her in the future?"

After taking a sip of his tea, Father nodded. "One day. I'll make certain of it."

Picking up a slice of roasted duck with her chopsticks, Mother mentioned mirthfully, "Lili is praised by her tutors today," taking a delicate bite of the cutlet, she'd been so careful to not let it touch her perfectly painted lips. "She'd been very excellent in her lessons."

Mother, however, left the fact that I hadn't been as equally exceptional in playing the zither.

To be fair, my lessons were quite simple, given that it was made easier for the level of a child. There was basic reading, writing, etiquette, dancing, and playing an instrument. Writing, in particular, proved more difficult to perfect when the subject required time and patience in mastering the Kou alphabet. Studying secretly helped me in that particular area.

Mother often made certain to crow about my accomplishments, whether it be as simple as performing a good deed. Had it been to impress Father or herself? I had always considered the latter.

Father nodded. It was a gesture of approval. "Lili, you realize I commend you for your achievements," he said. "You have done well, of course. However this does not simply condone as an excuse for your mischief-making with your nursemaids, my dear. I regard you as a responsible girl still, despite this,"—for a second, I held a breath— "I hope to not find another replacement for a servant of yours in the future."

His voice remained collected, but there was always something so compelling when he admonished me. He'd been a strict father, and although he forgave me, he would duly scold me in earnest.

Humbled, my head dipped low. "I understand, Father."

"Oh but, darling," Mother cooed smoothly, the gentle lilt in her voice like a balm. Deceptively gentle, I put into thought at first before reconsidering: it'd always been like that. "She is only a child," she said to him, who acknowledged her with stoic attention: "you know how our daughter loves to wander."

Beneath the cushioned layers of matronly reason and endearment was what appeared to be a tacit maneuver to defend me. Mother had never been so blunt to express her disapproval in her words, so much as to openly voice out contentions to Father, due to convention and formality. The subservient wife, the reconciler, who was so eager to please her husband for his favorable disposition. This, and to fend for me still, despite my wrongdoing.

She didn't have to, was my opinion that was safely guarded in my mind. However, instead of pragmatism or guilt in my disagreement, the bitter sentiment that clung onto me—perhaps, for the longest time—was my denial.

Her lashes, long and wing-like, lowered under the calm blues of her eyes; they'd always been round with a glimmer, but in this manner, these very same eyes spoke of poised grace and sensibility. "I believe the problem here lies with the inability of her nursemaids to follow."

"Regardless, it will certainly do no good if our daughter does not give them that opportunity," Father cleared his throat, "relentlessly, might I add."

The discussion about my behavior had been short. Mother always knew better when to cross the line whenever Father had been set with one opinion, so she did comply. The conversation drifted to another when Father spoke: "Anyway," he began, blowing his freshly drawn cup of tea. "How was your meeting with Lady Yong-hi and her son?"

For a beat, I realized there was an expectant tone in his voice. A quiet anticipation—as he sipped on his tea, eyes patient.

Mother was the first to voice out her disappointment of the matter. "Lili hadn't had the opportunity to meet the young lordling," she said, sighing. "I hoped she could make a friend."

I already have one. I bit my tongue before the words slipped out from my lips.

Father looked at my direction. "Is that so?"

Lying through my teeth, I replied, "It was rather unfortunate."

As if to reassure, he imparted kindly to me: "There is always another time."

"Eh? Now you're making that up, geezer!"

"Oh, but it's true, it's true," the elder waved his veiny hand; his fingers suspiciously tattooed with foreign characters. "I even had to swim the whole length of Sami River to escape the Kai soldiers, a formidable bunch I should say."

Haru almost appeared like he was at the verge of tearing out his hair with the manner he held it. "What the—you can't prove any of that!"

On the other hand, Old Guo was insouciant about the matter; he was a steam bun vendor from the southern market, whose open stall we often frequented to when we ventured about. With the way Haru bawled out from his seat, I sympathized. If I could recall, Haru demanded—quite brazenly—where he got his tattoos in which the old man sent him an overly tolerant smile, and by some unusual skill, he had also somewhat veered the subject away to an unrelated one. He did have a penchant for blatant misdirection.

Despite our casual chatter, Old Guo was an elusive man. His tattoos still riveted my curiosity as it told a history of its own whenever a snakehead peered from his outstretched wrist. He would wisely conceal them with his robes, knowing it would attract bad attention in his business. It was said tattoos were a social stigma, branded on vile criminals and heretics who'd been shunned from society.

Haru folded his arms to his chest. "Sami's not that huge," he argued, which I should gently remind him later that his bold statement was actually a false fact. With a confident tip of his chin, he went on: "and shouldn't they be using boats or something? Bet you couldn't even stand a chance."

Leaning on his palm, Old Guo lazily flashed him a cocksure grin. He was missing a tooth and his front teeth were crooked, which made his smile more lopsided than it should. "I was fast," he told him, "and the river mermaids helped me."

Throwing his head back, Haru's mouth gave way to a frustrated growl with his palms stamped on his eyes. His tantrums weren't uncommon in Old Guo's stall; in fact, they'd been a predictable occurrence at this point whenever the vendor decided to blithely evade Haru's incessant questions. Of course, all of which remained unanswered.

Blowing out a sigh, he managed to ask again: "If you're escaping Kai soldiers, you must be from Kai then?"

Old Guo shrugged. "Oh sure."

"Where're you from Kai?"

"A village, I think."

Fearing Haru may undergo through another meltdown, I intervened. "Can I have another pork bun, please?"

Bobbing his head, Old Guo complied. "Another pork bun it is."

Haru screeched at my side, which I instinctively moved away by an inch. "Hey!"

I nudged his leg with my knee, careful not to touch his bruised ankle he got from a scuffle a day ago. "Haru, you're being rude," I scolded in a worthy imitation of Father's stoic tone. Once my dish was offered, I placed the fresh steam bun before him. "Here," I started, "have a pork bun."

Haru, being Haru, took an angry bite on the bun without letting himself wince from his busted lip. It was a habit of his, really. To not appear affected by his fresh wounds—at this point, he regarded them as a normal happening, something I and his mother found deeply troubling. Chewing, he still wore his scowl. "Stop treating me like a kid, Li."

The crumbs on his collar almost made me fuss. Haru ate messily.

"But you are."

Haru swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "But I'm older."

"Mhmm," my legs swayed beneath the table. "Right."

Haru rolled his eyes at that one. I would have snickered if I hadn't noticed the light smudge of dried blood on his knuckles. "Hey, Haru," I said in a resigned tone, handing my handkerchief to him, "you're bleeding again."

Haru huffed out a long irritated sigh. "Leave it," was his reply, refusing my offer. He could be stubborn when it came to these things however he should know better that I was stubborn too. Before he could open his mouth for another bite, I cupped his face with my palm and began to dab the handkerchief on his cut. He flinched in reaction. "Li, don't just—!"

"Next time, when Miss Fude applies plaster there," I said sternly, withdrawing my hand from his face. "You don't lick it off."

His brows furrowed. "I didn't lick it off!" and then Haru absentmindedly touched his lip, grumbling under his breath: "besides, I don't need it. And you should really stop fussing over nothing. You nag like Ma."

There were times I found my motivation in smacking some sense in him but I resisted the thought, knowing it wouldn't change his mind and that the boy didn't need anymore bruises to prove a point—he had enough already. I did push him by the arm, and although it hadn't been done from retaliation, I meant to grab his attention. "Just don't do it again," it sounded like an obscure message, but Haru wasn't an idiot and he knew exactly what I meant. "And if you keep staring like that, I'm going to take back that pork bun right under your nose."

Haru took note of the challenge in my tone and shoved the last remnants of his steam bun on his mouth. "See if you could now," he smirked cockily, appearing ridiculous with the manner it puffed up his cheeks. My lips twitched up at the sight.

"Don't choke," I bit back a laugh.

"As if."

Just before we decidedly rose from our chairs and were about to leave, Old Guo went to us in a limp, mentioning: "a word of advice, younglings," his lips crinkled into a half-smile. "Don't just accept drinks from strangers, eh?"

"Oh?" I feigned bemusement, borrowing my friend's coarse tone. An unsuspecting tone, at least. "What about the strangers?"

"A shady bunch," Old Guo said, flicking his tapered beard. "Don't trust 'em," he shook his head, maintaining a sense of vagueness with his wording, "heard 'em juices give bad stomachaches," he patted his hand on his stomach, a snakehead leering from his sleeve. "I don't want my regulars getting into that."

Always in baseless disagreement with the old man, Haru snorted loudly. "You're just saying that 'cause we're your only customers."

Simpering, Old Guo waved his hand. "Sure, sure."

Haru nearly jumped. "Ha! I knew it!"

Small as it was, this admittance was to him a victory of sorts.

I, of course, had to shake my head unfavorably for his behavior. It never occurred to this brash boy that Old Guo had in some way been such a casual liar. I was kind enough to not spoil his moment for him.

Finally leaving the stall, we climbed up the arching bridge on the way and went on a casual stroll in the southern market. Niwa, was what the local residents loved to call it because of the Niwa river built around the district and the assortments of blossoms sold from each stall. It was mid-spring; a time where spring showers and cold humid winds cooled over the province of Suiko with the cloying scent of flowers.

The Ina festival had ended three days ago yet Niwa market still bustled, decked over with garlands of magnolias, white rapeseed, and linen ribbons. There were weave baskets, banquets, hairpins, perfumed pouches, flower necklaces, and even sugary candied flowers. Candied cherry blossoms were a particular favorite. Beneath the flourishing magnolia trees were small shrines of Hiryuu, whose statues were carved from saltstone and carnelian, while beneath its clawed feet were offerings of stick incense, sea salt, and rice.

To the farther south was the wet market; there were all sorts of things you could find in there, whether it be the expensive silks from Southern Kai to the saltwater salmon from the far northern isles. There was exotic shellfish, a variety of meat, vegetable, and fruit, hawked around by vendors. Merchants of foreign origin would saunter the area, displaying their leathers, metals, wares, and rare goods. Father shared to me once that there were more foreign traders from the city-markets of Kuuto, especially to the Water tribe coastal provinces of Kanegōse and Sensui.

Haru was familiar with the market's pathways, evidently as he'd been the sort to move around and blend in the crowd. He liked the noise, the bustle that made Niwa so alive and vibrant than any of the tranquil residential districts from the eastside. Sometimes, I surmised that he wanted being distracted like this as he went farther away from Suiko Castle. Walking together, I was a bit surprised that no one went out of their way to greet him. He wasn't a popular kid, but he knew a lot of people and he'd been a bit infamous for his temper.

On the other hand, Haru didn't seem to mind as he ambled beside me, rubbing his nose while muttering 'damn flowers.' When I assumed he was about to sneeze, I was caught off guard when I was dragged abruptly from an alley. "Wha—wait," I sputtered, sending a confused glance at the boy that led me there. My brow curved. "Haru?"

Haru was observing intensely from his spot, eyes narrowed into suspecting slits. "That's him."

Curious, I stood next to him. "Who exactly is him?" and just before he was about to answer my question, I whispered, "why are we hiding?"

"Ma's new," Haru made a disgusted noise. "lover."

I blinked in realization. "Oh," peering from his side, I searched for the person in question, eventually finding a tall man with tanned skin. From my periphery, I couldn't quite make out the clear features on his face, but from his heavy purse and the fine blue clothing he donned, I understood what piqued Chan-mi's interest. "He seems all right."

"Ew," Haru grimaced. "Li, stop."

Expecting his disgusted response, I shrugged. "Just saying."

Haru grumbled out a string of incoherent sentences, which I'm quite certain there was a curse somewhere there. Craning his neck out, he stepped out of his position. "Okay, now he's gone," he started to bolt forward, hauling me to his stride. "We'll just sneak pass—"

I stopped him just before he could chase after the man. As I dug my heels back at the pavement, I breathed out a sigh. "Haru, really, what's this about?"

Struggling with his words, Haru wasn't looking at me straight in the eye as he kept diverting his attention back at the place where the man had gone. "I think he's," his brows scrunched together and his fist clenched, torn knuckles gaping. "I just don't trust him, all right?"

I would have asked what made him so determined to think this way however the reason behind it seemed simple and sympathetic. This kind of raging behavior wasn't uncommon from him, but there was something that shone in his eyes that appeared there'd been something more than a child starting a tantrum over his mother's love life. "Oh. Okay," I said placidly but still insisted: "we're not going to follow him."

Dissatisfied of my answer, Haru fumed. "Why not?"

"No," I deadpanned. "We're not. His business is not ours. Besides your mother might notice you've been out here for too long."

"Who cares what she thinks," Haru grouched out, crossing his arms.

"I do," I told him, tugging his sleeve. "C'mon, let's go back."

Rankled, Haru fussed out, "You're not my caretaker."

"'Course I am," I smiled irritatingly, hoping to buoy the mood. "I wouldn't be An Lili if I'm not, yes?"

Haru didn't bother returning a retort back at me, but there remained a tolerant look in his eyes. Perhaps, it'd been that rational part of him that consoled him out of his temper. It hadn't been difficult reasoning with him after all, but coaxing him into compliance was a matter that couldn't be earned simply by convincing him with small talk. I thought maybe there had still been something in his mind.

It'd been a minute, maybe, when Haru stood still with a slouch. He was quiet, contemplative perhaps, and some small part of me grew unsettled at the sudden change of his disposition.

"Hey, Lili . . ."

I cocked my head to the side. "Yeah?"

Haru wasn't looking at me. "You think he'll come back?"

He. I closed my eyes, grasping its meaning. Haru rarely spoke about him.

The tone in his voice was quiet and reserved. Soft, I thought. So soft, that disclosing the truth had instinctively felt horrible. I remembered my younger brother from another lifetime, asking a similar question about our mother, and in my reluctance, I lied. Because she's never really going to come home, ever.

"Haru," I began, pursing my lip. "I don't know."

Haru cringed back; it felt like a knife driven on the gut. "I know Ma meets others and all, not like they're going to be together, ah, but you know, Pa could just . . ." he shifted awkwardly, sucking a deep breath once he gave a second of consideration over his words. "Just—forget it."

I tried to approach him, reaching out my hand—only to find myself falter at midway. I couldn't seem to understand where my hesitation stemmed from, but the thought of touching his shoulder felt frightening somehow. Like having an irrational fear of being near fragile objects because of the likely chance you could break them. I was never good with comforting someone and I hated my inability for such a thing.

I stepped forward, thinking maybe I could still console him out of it. Make a bad joke to ease him a little. Anything, really—because Haru wasn't acting like the tough kid I believed he was and I wish I knew what to do. "Haru . . ."

His head was bent low and his hands were pushed sullenly in his pockets. I couldn't help but wonder if he's wringing on the fabric inside, clinging onto something that wasn't there to begin with. "Really, just forget it," he kicked a pebble along the way, moving forward in an attempt to avert the issue. "It's not like it matters anyway."

And then Haru led and I followed. The path to Suiko Palace was a quiet one; and we were, too.

Clack. It was strange how there was so much finality in that one sharp sound.

From his old study, Father observed the shogi board thoughtfully. "You have improved."

I stared down at my pieces. "I lost."

"There is always another time," Father took a sip of his tea; a faint scent of spearmint wafting from his cup. "In my youth, your grandfather and I had played this game countless of times," he shared to me in what I believe was an attempt to cheer me up, "I would lose to him as well. If I recall, there were so very few times I won."

"But Grandfather is a strategist, isn't he?"

"Indeed, he is," Father nodded, placing down the teacup on the table. "Do you not have another partner to play shogi with you?"

I gave his words little thought. My shoulders lifted up in an insouciant shrug. "Most of the girls think it's boring."

Father hummed in response. "Then what of other," there was a hint of strain in his tone, "noble boys your mother had introduced?" he asked, cupping his thumb with his chin. "I have heard of Lord Joon-Suh's praise for his son's skill in the game."

"I beat him," I said, recalling how the boy sorely snubbed me when he lost. "Most of them don't play as good as I do."

Instead of a rebuke, Father laughed genuinely at my frankness. My chest swelled at the humor in his voice. It was such a rare instance to hear him laugh. "Is that so? Then, perhaps, you should give considerations for your opponents, Lili," he told me after recomposing himself, adding a quick comment: "you could be as brutal as your grandfather."

My lips couldn't help but grin proudly at the comparison. "That will be a compliment."

Father then sighed softly under his breath. "I want you to make a friend," he admitted.

"But I don't need one," I smoothed the hem of my sleeve, distantly thinking about that mischievous boy and his mischievous grin and misadventures. I really wanted to tell Father about him however disclosing this fact alone made me fear the worst of outcomes: his disapproval. Haru was the kind of child my parents would loathe to let me spend time with for all his reckless daring and rudeness.

I hope he's all right now. I was still planning on visiting him later just to make sure he was.

"None of that, Lili," Father scolded, snapping me from my musings. The moment I met his gaze, I realized this was the gentle look that made him the pillar of my life. "Truthfully, it is not good for your age to bar yourself the opportunity in creating bonds," and then he smiled, "I'm certain someone will appreciate you. After all, once you realize it, there is also truly something special in finding the right companion who may shoulder you in the darkest of days."

Having heard his advice, I was meek and quiet from uttering out a response. I was aware of these things, though I marveled over the manner Father spoke them to me, as if he knew I would listen and understand. It was that level of confidence that he placed on me that made me love him. Of course, this never meant that I didn't love my real father just as much, for the tireless dreamer that he was; they were different and that was fine because I loved them both anyway.

And then what followed: "Of course, this doesn't mean that you cannot come to me or your mother when you are in need as well."

I smiled appreciatively at his words. Despite his reticence, Father always tries, in his own small ways.

However the awareness of such thing, no matter how fond I was, had also made me want to cringe back from my own guilt. His paternal affection and sincerity was supposed to be for his little spoilt daughter. Perhaps, the workings of the cosmos were to blame, but the weight of my undeservingness sunk in tenfold whenever we talked like this in his old study—in these private conversations that were very precious to me.

I felt overwhelmed at the thought. Not knowing how to respond, I determined to end the tender sentiments with my abrupt tasteless humor. I allowed myself to slip, confessing my admiration for my mother's styled hair. He'd been none the wiser until I delicately raised the innocent question of my marriage—of all things. Father was strict however what outshone that quality was his blatant overprotectiveness, disclosing his rather strong opinions of the matter that concluded with a final rebuttal of—"a worthy partner that I shall only approve of," as he claimed, strenuously.

I held a grimace, adverse of the notion of betrothal in the first place.

In reconciliation, I graciously poured him tea in which he accepted. I drank too, as if one was to drown down his own sorrows.

Exposition Corner:

"A tiger father will not beget canine sons": is a Chinese quote that means, "a brave father is unlikely to have cowardly sons."

For this chapter, I'm using it in a different context. That being similar to the saying: "an apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

In that respect, it's a throwback to Lili being similar to her parents in appearance, and despite that, not being similar to them at all, along with the fact that she isn't even their actual daughter. And since we're dealing with the sensitive topic of parents, yes, this also touches the issue with Haru's complicated relationship with his own.

Education:

Literacy is a privilege reserved for nobility and royalty. There are also exceptions for middle-class denizens who could afford instructors to teach them the basics such as reading, writing, and arithmetic.

When it comes to children of nobility, they are taught as young as four. Education varies from the gender of a child; while boys are taught the basics and etiquette, including more advanced subjects such as philosophy, strategy, literature, swordsmanship, archery, equestrianship and history, girls are taught basic reading and writing, along with social requisites such as etiquette, poetry, dancing, singing, painting, sewing, and playing an instrument. However literacy among nobility is treated more like a formal requisite than an educational necessity, unlike scholars and monks.

Koukan alphabet, or commonly known as Kou, is a writing system consisting of borrowed characters from Kai and syllabary. There are two formal scripts: the female script and the male script. My inspiration of the writing system comes from the ancient Japanese writing system, specifically in Heian Japan. There is Onnade and Otokode, the former being women's writing that follows a cursive script and the latter men's writing having a regular script. Though don't expect me to go further into detail with this one. There are many components that make the Japanese writing system—and my version just happens to be a simplified bastardized imitation of it in this story.

On the other hand, Kai-shū, or in Koukan dialect, referred to as Kaisho, is the main writing system of Northern and Southern Kai. However Kou is more expressly favored than Kaisho, which is taught as an elective and is frequently used more in poetry. Kaisho poetry is taught as a subject for both males and females.

Tattoo:

Recalling our last lesson about the Classic of Filial Piety, tattoos are still considered to be a defamation of the body in several cultures. This applies to Kouka, seeing tattoos as social stigmas, which are usually associated with outcasts, deviants, and criminals from society. Different countries in this universe may perceive differently, which I might bring to light in future chapters.

Chapter Text

you can hardly make a friend in a year
but you can easily offend one in an hour

Biryu Castle, or what many a man called the Shining Fortress, was a palace complex at the heart of Jinsei Province, from the north-western borders of Kuuto. Though not as immense and grand as Hiryuu Castle, the palace was an ancient magnificent sight surmounted on a hilltop.

As it was elevated by stone platforms hedged with trees of red pine and flame trees, one can see the sprawling view of the villages, the terraced rice fields, and the abundant verdure surrounding the bountiful lands. The main keep was a pale shimmering white against the sun, beneath elegantly curved roofs that are painted in crimson; storehouses, baileys, and corridors strewn the property, connected by a series of gates and winding paths.

It had an almost labyrinthine character to its structure that made it more distinctly defensive than aesthetical, unlike the flat palatial grounds of Suiko Palace. Biryu Castle had been centuries older and was miraculously preserved from the harsh era of warring clans and feudal lords, which had merited it as the regal residence of previous kings, once upon a time, before the construction of Hiryuu Castle.

It told so much of the lord and his family that resided there and the life they lived from the outskirts of the great capital.

It was a cruel metaphor, almost.

The thought never escaped me that this was also the place where Soo-won was born.

The first thing I recalled was that this was my first venturing out of Suiko.

At the time, I felt as if I was being offered more as a present than a guest. I was swaddled in a dress of layered pale silks under a thick overcoat; the painted lilies swayed to and fro from a sea of blue fabric. My movements were impeded by the stuffiness of my ensemble, as the highland climate was cold and the grandeur was heavy. Impressions are a must, so Mother claimed—and I relented.

Trailed behind by an entourage of servants, Mother and I were received from the antechambers by a pair. There Lady Yong-hi was; in her finery, once one laid eyes upon her nothing described her more but beautiful. It'd been curious meeting Soo-won's mother, as I was more familiar and expectant to encounter his father. "Welcome," she greeted, a faint chime clinked from the gold ornaments on her hair. "The journey must be long. Come, I have prepared a spread for you, and perhaps, we shall talk about your trip," locking eyes with my mother, she further said: "I'm certain you have so much to tell."

Mother chuckled in response. It was high-pitched and tinkling, like a bell. "Why, of course, dear Yong-hi. Whenever had I ever been such a bore?" she teased, and then landed her blue eyes on the Lady's son that stood beside her; a child double of his mother, clad in a gold and cerulean weave. "My, how are you, my little lordling?"

At the sight of the boy, Mother was well-nigh at the brink of squealing. Although Soo-won didn't have stunning features that outmatched other noble children, he did possess a head of golden hair that haloed over a cherubic face that would likely endear my mother to heart. That wasn't to say that he hadn't been fair at all, but I did find him a bit too young. Had I expected him to be older? Maybe. Regardless, it made no difference that I'd just been staring at another boy.

Wearing a cordial smile, Soo-won tipped his head. "I am well, Lady Han-byeol. Thank you."

High voice, I noted, sighing inwardly. The silent part of me was simply waiting for a snappy retort from Haru coming out from somewhere, words playing in his snickering sardonic tone: "Li, maybe you should call him 'Princess' from now on, eh? Betcha he's more like one than you are."

I chastised myself after that. It wouldn't do anyone good to belittle him because he came off a bit girlish.

From the Lady's tearoom, there the initial socializing began. Lady Yong-hi was a good host. Sitting opposite of her, I observed that there was a foreign quality in her beauty, like that of a desert flower in a regal garden. She carried herself with a gentlewoman's grace and words, wearing all the prestige and charm of a Koukan lady. However the intensity of her sharp blue eyes seemed to still be at odds with the delicacy of her mannerisms and countenance.

Regardless, it didn't change my opinion of her. Lady Yong-hi was Soo-won's mother and the respected consort of the currently absent Crown Prince. There wasn't much to say beyond those superficial titles of the person beneath.

It was during the prolonged conversations of our mothers that we did occasionally steal cursory glances at each other, and in those short intervals, I did affect a pleasant smile on my lips, which he returned with a nod; whenever he did so, blond strands of hair would fall just at his brow and he would tirelessly push them back at the curve of his ear. Small ears, I noticed. Sometimes, he would even tug the collar of his robes, as if it was too large for him. Those were insignificant details, but the more I became attentive of his idiosyncrasies, the more my curiosity grew for this child. Yet still there was no shine in his eyes.

The dread then settled on my gut upon the suggestion of my mother, whom enthused that their children should spend time together to get more acquainted. What was supposed to be for the sake of creating a friendship had been a cunning front to encourage our compatibility in engagement. Of course, Mother was that conniving and driven. This was evident further when she whispered to my ear: "Make him like you, sweetling."

I grimaced at that, pushing her advice at the back of my head. I didn't let the pressure gnaw me inside out once I was left alone with the boy from the eastern gardens. Beneath the fiery-gold and crimson foliage of a flame tree we stood in awkward silence and anticipation. From that distance, we were being watched by my bodyguards and his. Distractedly, I mulled if Se-hun was commenting how stiff our interactions were.

It's probably true. I proposed meekly, "I suppose we should walk around?"

Soo-won abided. "All right."

And so we did.

After that, there wasn't much of a conversation, honestly. Soo-won was keen enough to keep up with our exchanges; nothing too deep, just simple platitudes and pleasantries. Perhaps, he was aware of the position that he was uncomfortably thrust in just as I was. Here we are, beautiful children stuck in a beautiful garden, an arm's breadth close with far distant voices. Someone may say it'd just been a child's reticence, but it never once occurred to me that he would be this taciturn.

From the manner we kept breaking away our stares, I interpreted it as reluctance. His smiles weren't as bright as I thought it would be. Soo-won was very polite but I had to endure a lifetime of pretension to recognize such behavior for insincerity.

"—so you're not impressed."

Basking in the shade beneath the old birch tree from the stables, I was lying down flat on my stomach on the cool grass. Sweat prickled on the base of my neck and my arms, clothe in long olive-green sleeves made of soft linen gauze. The air was warm and humid, and just from the branch of each tree, the cicadas trilled their songs. I would have appreciated it more if I brought a paper fan with me.

"Nope," I managed to utter, prodding the little daisy near my face.

Haru snorted. "I don't see what's the problem, Li," he began, sprawled on the ground next to me in his wrinkled clothes. I was tempted to pluck out the weeds from his shirt. "I mean, look, from what you told me, he doesn't seem interested in you in any way." He idly picked up the book next to me, squinting his eyes at the random page he was currently trying to comprehend.

I winced. "Thanks for the heads-up there," I said dryly. "Should definitely come to you for advice."

"No problem," Haru humored me with just as much sarcasm. "Anyway, it's not like you like him either," he pointed out after mumbling out the misread character 'disappointment' with 'fate', which I corrected him on. He shrugged it off, anyway. "You didn't want to meet him, right?"

I blinked. Rolling back, I stared at the dappled sunshine from the leaves above me. "Well, yeah," I mumbled, half of it to myself. "I know I'm not really supposed to like him. First impressions aren't really the most reliable when knowing someone. But it's just that he's so," I tried to grasp for the right words: "fake—and uninterested. . ."

There came a soft rustle and then a sparrow took its flight; its striped wings caught the light.

"You mean like yourself?"

I felt a twinge from my chest at the retort. Before Haru could notice me react, he elaborated further: "Okay, you're not really fake to some people. You know, like me," he told me as he comfortably reclined his back on the bark of the tree. "But you're always like that to a lot of people. The ones you don't like," and then he shrugged, returning the book back to my side. "You keep hiding a lot of things to yourself, actually."

"Oh," I uttered in a frail tone. "Is that how you see me?"

The moment his dark eyes pulsed wide was the time he realized what he said. It'd been the blunt truth, regardless. "Well. . ." Haru awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "Um. Yes? Erm, just a bit, uh, but that doesn't mean you're a bad person or anything!"

Haru said that last statement in a desperate attempt to not offend me further. Loudmouth as he was, Haru wasn't the sort to sugarcoat, and whenever he did attempt to lie, he'd been so terrible at it. It became quite apparent now when he was all but a flustered and flailing mess, failing to conceal a truth that he shouldn't be so afraid of confessing. A string of curses raced from his lips, and then there I realized I may have been silent for a second too long.

"Hey, shit, I'm really bad at this . . ." Haru was beginning to stutter, his heart on his mouth. "I'm—"

"Kid, calm down," I retorted, giving him a chance to breathe. "I know. I just asked."

"Yeah, but the last thing I wanted to happen is seeing you get all teary-eyed from it."

"Please. I'm not going to cry over that," I admitted before having the nerve to snicker in front of his face. "Pfft, it was very sweet of you to care, though."

"Li, stop laughing," Haru grumbled, flushing from his neck to the tips of his ears. "I just don't like crying girls, okay? It's . . .it's," he was bumbling again, groping for words that seemed to slip passed his mouth.

I finished his sentence. "Frustrating?"

"Yeah. That." Haru folded his arms on his chest, huffily blowing a strand of hair from his face. He cleared his throat. "Well, anyway, are you over it? Your prince."

I began to ponder when we agreed to call him that. Sure, Soo-won had a legitimate claim but he wasn't officially a prince, per se.

I sighed. The fault of the matter, perhaps, was from the fact that I may have guiltily relied on my expectations on this one. Though it'd been a trait of his to be insincere, Soo-won had this precociousness and boundless curiosity in him that I did admire for his age. I always had this image of him as the cheerful boy who'd venture out in the open and explore, and that in some way, take some mild interest in An Lili, as he had in canon.

Even though in a pragmatic sense, I was still adverse to the idea; I would have personally wanted to know what everyone saw in this child, his intelligence, his natural charisma, that outshines all behind the façade of a brilliant smile. I wanted to meet that Soo-won.

The best answer I could give him was an undecided shrug.

Out of kindness, Haru commented, "He's a snob?"

I went along with it. "Definitely a snob."

Haru rubbed his chin, thinking aloud: "guess snobs can't befriend snobs then."

I nodded in agreement. I never really liked Soo-won—and, maybe, he never liked me either in his distance.

The second time I came back to Biryu Castle, it'd been late autumn.

I remembered the heavy rains and the thunderstorms that churned the graying skies; the outpour in the village and the puddles on stone roads, crimson and golden-orange maple leaves afloat on shallow water. The warm heady scents of roasted chestnuts and smoked venison, along with ripe pears and apples and persimmons on each fruit stall, wafted in the cold crisp air. The streets of Jinsei Province were lively.

Biryu Castle was untouched by the commotions of the people for the ongoing harvest festival. However in compensation, Lady Yong-hi had prepared a fine spread. There was radish soup, coupled with steamed rice on bowls, dumplings on porcelain, and red vegetable stew on earthen pots. The scents of the dining room were spiced from the heat of thinly-sliced beef grilled from a brazier. The sauces came and went, along with pickled plums, cabbages, and cucumbers. Servings of cut fresh fruit and berry preserves were added to the variety, as well as the traditional half-moon rice cakes eaten during the harvest time.

The meals were bountiful and hot enough to warm the belly however the Lady had resigned herself to a simple dish of quail ginseng soup. In a sincere tone, she apologized for the absence of Soo-won; Prince Yu-hon was summoned for a quorum with the generals and so headed to the capital with his son two days ago. Mother was disappointed. I wasn't.

When the harsh rainfall had ceased, Mother and I approached Lady Yong-hi in tea and pleasant conversation from her tearoom. The Lady's beloved golden kerria shrubs were planted outside its open pavilion, where it'd been dewed and disheveled for a time. Then there came the simple mundane talks, how the noble ladies loved to share their personal tales. Mother showered her with compliments, as usual; however I knew better and so did she. Lady Yong-hi had grown pale and thin, like fine porcelain at the verge of shattering.

The fact alone was a saddening matter. All of a sudden, Lady Yong-hi coughed harshly from the handkerchief I had courteously handed to her awhile ago. Even then, she appeared delicate when she had done so.

Her handmaidens rushed over her trembling form, calling over her private nurses. As her fits faltered, Lady Yong-hi remained dignified as she held herself in her composure and her eyes found me. It was then I realized she had such beautiful eyes. It wasn't like my mother's or mine; hers were like the sea and one could drown in them from a glance. Like his, I thought distractedly.

Mother served her role as the friend and I the gracious daughter; it'd been one of the qualities I was sincerely fond of my mother as she held no duplicitous intention when she accompanied the Lady to her chambers. I was sent back to the guest house with a retinue of nursemaids at my side. It was over about an hour or so that a servant boy came to me unannounced, bearing a message.

He was rather young—a boy who seemed too young to be a common page boy. His presence was unimpressionable however I couldn't point a finger as to what made him somewhat important. "The Lady Yong-hi wishes for your presence," he said politely. "I am here to fetch for you, my lady."

I acquiesced to the request. Servants behind my back, I peered curiously at the boy. He was taller by a few inches and he had nice green eyes. He really seemed . . . familiar. As we trod about the corridors, I began, "How is the Lady faring so far?"

"She is recovering well," he informed. "My mother told me that her fits were only mild symptoms of her illness."

"If you don't mind me asking," I started, careful with the reservation in my wording. It was a matter of tone, even though I awfully disliked how I sounded: refined, unaffected—the practiced intonation of a water child. "Is your mother a healer?"

"Yes," he told me, his eyes gleaming with awe. "She is one of the Lady's healers, rather."

"I see." What followed after was a series of questions from my lips, which he kindly entertained each one with much enthusiasm. The servant boy was intelligent in a way. Whenever he spoke a word, he didn't chatter, but he would contemplate on each sentence first before uttering it aloud. Behind the reticent demeanor, I was impressed and so asked for his name.

"Ah, apologies, my lady," he said with a hand on his chest. "You may call me Min-soo."

That name. Oh my—

As the revelation sunk in and the recollection barged forward like an arrow to my chest, I tried my darnedest masking the shock in my face. I acknowledged him with a nod. "Thank you, Min-soo," the manner I voiced out my words had been surprisingly fluid and calm, even though deep within in me I was in a state of rapture. I drew a quiet breath.

Min-soo belatedly returned my gratitude with a simple exchange, as we came to a halt. Two servants flanked the Lady's bedchambers; the grand doors of rich red oak welcomed me as they parted for entrance, bronze latticework winking against the light. Telling my nursemaids to wait outside in which they accorded, I went forward to the Lady.

From her sickbed, her golden hair was undone, traces of sweat glistened from her brow and her pallor was still sallow, skin almost akin to glass with the way her blue veins stretched beneath, however I hadn't minded when she greeted me with a smile.

Her slender hand slipped out from a billowing sleeve, beckoning for me, and gestured toward the cushioned seat that was prepared for my visit. "Come sit," when I acceded to her request, letting myself perch atop my seat, Lady Yong-hi poised her hand to my left; a maidservant motioned at my side, setting up the porcelain china and the pastries on the single serving stand before curtseying away. "Please, help yourself to some of the cakes," she spoke politely. "I have heard from your mother you have quite a sweet tooth," and then in a lighthearted tone: "a sentiment I quite understand."

Bobbing my head in response, I opted on abiding to her offer as to not appear rude, pinching a half-moon rice cake between my fingertips. As I took a tentative bite, there was a soft crunch from the whole strawberry within.

Having eaten the cake, I held the handle of the teapot. "May I pour for you?" once she nodded, seemingly impressed, I then poured her cup and then mine. Despite the redundancy, I gently asked, "How are you, Lady Yong-hi?"

Lady Yong-hi smiled as she accepted the cup I handed to her. "I am fine," she replied, and after blowing the steam of her tea, she took a small sip. "I hadn't had the opportunity to properly thank you for your handkerchief," with a delicate tilt of her head, she continued: "and I am, Lili."

Once again, I let myself nod courteously. "I am pleased, my lady," lifting my cup to my lips, I drank. The brew was bittersweet, mildly spiced, with a hint of pine. I sniffed. Black tea.

Simply concluding that she summoned me in her bedchambers for a voicing out her gratitude had been quite a stretch; perhaps, this was Mother's working however I supposed that the Lady must have wanted to be more acquainted to me as my mother was her friend—or maybe, for reasons I didn't wish to dwell too deep into. I would have initiated the conversation first if she hadn't observed me quietly staring at the book on her lap. "Have you read this?" she asked amiably.

"The Chikashishū," I recounted, almost rekindling back my lessons in poetry. "Yes. It is being taught to me."

"Is that so?" her head tilted to the side, and I had to refrain myself from uttering aloud how much she resembled her son so closely in the future. "There was also a time I was being taught how to read it as well," Lady Yong-hi then cupped her chin in contemplation. "Kai-shū could be a tad difficult, however."

Careful not burn my tongue, I took another sip of my tea. "But I do find it lovely," I admitted. Kai had such a quaint beautiful language. It's no wonder the gentlewomen adored it so much.

Lady Yong-hi hummed. "Most people do comment that the Kai tongue is quite lyrical."

Feigning ignorance, I asked to prompt her further, "Why is that, my lady?"

"As the old saying goes, the words of Kai flow like a song."

I bobbed my head as an eager child would, though I caught the inflections of her voice; enthusiastic as it was, there was a touch of a weary reminiscence in it. For a fleeting interval, her blue eyes seem to gaze somewhere, far beyond the extravagant walls of her room. The windows are closed, and the whim to open them wide had never been so inviting upon having seen her a little too distant, a little too personal. Deciding to detract her from her musings, I drew up a genial question. "Do you like reading it?"

Glancing down at the book on her lap, Lady Yong-hi ran her elegant fingers on its worn cover. "Indeed," was her answer, with a soft smile on her lips. "Are you fond of reading, Lili?"

"Yes," I replied before drinking down the last sup of my tea.

Lady Yong-hi mirrored my actions before settling her cup back at the stand. "That is nice to know. I had a feeling that you were a curious child," there was a glint in her eye as she clasped her hands together. "My Soo-won is the same. Always so eager to learn, that boy."

A tad stunned from the disclosure, I wasn't able to respond back when Lady Yong-hi opened the poetry book and suggested, "Do you like a particular poem, Lili? I could read it for you."

I would have suggested a few poems but decided against it; instead letting her choose a poem she would favor reading for me. The Lady was a bit surprised at first from my answer, but after reasoning to her that I would rather hear her choice of poems since she was more fully familiar with the book than I was. She agreed in the end.

I craned my head closer at the page, eyeing the delicate cursive characters of the poem's title. The Chrysanthemum's Song. She breathed in and then recited in fluent foreign tongue:

"Here I turn gold, splendor of the sun,

Shall each stalk comfort me in this grief?

I have tasted the rain and the springs beneath

In the great Garden of the Maker

However I am drouth of sweetness

For I no longer seek for the morrow

But of the withered time that is lost."

Lady Yong-hi read more select passages and I soon complimented her for her eloquence. She even taught me how to read a few characters; simple words and sentences. Having picked upon my interest in literature, she was kind to recommend me a few books. As much as I appreciated it, I would confess that it did strain me from keeping myself in maundering about several advanced pieces that are unlikely for my age group to be piqued on, knowing she must have read them, and from her specific tastes, must have enjoyed as well at one point.

That afternoon, I realized, I began to grow fond of her company. I would have concluded that Lady Yong-hi was a good conversationalist, however what really won me was how she endeared me, honestly. It was odd, but there was something about her that drew me in a way; whether she would oft times bring her son in the talk, mentioning him through nostalgically reminiscing over an old memory, or converse about an entirely different matter.

She could go on for hours and I wouldn't mind listening, lending her an open ear that I understood she needed. To be frank, it'd been difficult maintaining the pretense of a five year-old girl in our exchanges, and deep down, I knew if I hadn't been a child, we might as well be friends as adults. Although it was a tad disappointing that she didn't play shogi, it never stopped me from coming to visit over.

Mother appreciated this cordial bond we shared, overtly more pleased with its progress as it went on, even going so far as to suspiciously comment that one time: "She makes such a good daughter, doesn't she?"

Lady Yong-hi agreed, playfully jabbing: "Han-byeol, if you're not careful, I might just take her away from you."

"Oh Yong-hi, you know she could be yours just as much as mine," Mother giggled. "I also find little Won quite precious. Almost like a son of mine."

Little Won. I grimaced at the not-so-subtle implication. I hid my sigh with a forced yawn. Mother, why. . .

It was by the fourth day of our stay that they returned.

The servants came to a halt and even the evening breeze seemed to falter at the pair. The father and the son. Grandfather Mosu told me once that you could tell a man's character from his stride; the Crown Prince's steps were headstrong and brutally precise. It was thunder and it made the very ground tremble. This was a man, I believed, who held power in a vice-grip.

However how could the boy flutter passed me like a cloud? It was light and swift and nothing like his father's.

When I realized I'd been staring, I bowed respectfully next to my mother before the royal, who regarded us with but a nod before entering the Lady's bedchamber. From the closing gap of the door, I could see a glimpse of the three of them. How small and mundane they were as a whole; the affectionate wife, the husband cupping her cheek, and the babbling child in the middle of his parents.

With a drawn breath, I looked away. Soo-won had such a bright smile; there was a radiance to it the moment he'd lift his lips up, as one would lift another's spirit. Despite his smile belonging to someone who would grow up to be a practiced liar, it was a precious one, free of deceit with a heart so full—and by god, some desperate part of me wanted it to remain like that. For all what he'd done, he never deserved his tragedy.

The third time we met, it was from the funeral of the Queen.

The world seemed to have wept in pale frost; upon the forked trees, the dormant winter roses, and the dark stagnant pond that froze overnight. I waded in the sea of black and white that mourned for their tragic Queen's loss, over the footmark trails and the grass that shone a ghostly gray against the light, appearing like a thousand tombstones protruding from an expanse of milky-white sand.

There were drums, a song of old tongue warbled in the long procession that climbed up on the marble steps of a great hill that led to the royal mausoleum, though as the miserable wind swept, a cuckoo wailed from the looming red pine, and had I known nature to be kind, the birdsong was lent as a formal dirge.

However as much as my mind insisted that it'd been for a monarch, a small part of me wanted it to be for my irrelevant death from another lifetime, where the people I loved mourned over my grave, and I, who had so little time, couldn't even part with a proper goodbye. Perhaps, my heart ached that day. I couldn't tell from my numbness from the cold. The noblemen and gentlewomen called it a 'child's innocent devotion', but the tears they claimed were no different from the snowflakes that melted on my cheeks; empty of virtue, full of wretched selfish sentiment.

When the ceremonies had been over and the lamenters returned back to their quarters from the main keep, my parents confronted me in the privacy of my chambers since it was an unlikely occasion for me to abruptly burst into tears. After all, hadn't Lili always been a happy child? While Father insisted to give me time by myself, Mother was the one who came to alleviate me. I couldn't say if her cooing relieved me, how her words tried to reach for me, as any parent would do: "You can tell me anything, sweetling."

It hurt, really.

How they were both concerned yet would still be kept in the dark, despite it all. They never deserved that. However here I was mumbling over my sentences that 'it's fine now' and 'I was just sad.' I wasn't certain if it'd been convincing, but Mother ceased inquiring me further about it, suggesting that I rest for the time being. The moment she left, the door closed in a dull distant echo and I was alone again.

Donning on a thick outer robe, I decided to seize the opportunity to leave. It'd been from impulse, just for a moment to breathe—because the room reminded me too much of Lili's home, with all its wide walls and closed windows. In my private stroll, we were joined by chance from the open hallways. Our greetings were simple and curt. Formal then, formal still. Soo-won was preoccupied at that moment, and I understood, grateful that he hadn't mentioned a word about the scene that occurred from the procession.

The boy was kind, though.

Soo-won asked for my hand, which I curiously acquiesced. From his white hemp sleeves, he placed a flower-shaped confection on my open palm. I blinked. "I was supposed to share it with Hak," he reasoned in the simplicity of a child's words, and then gently, with what I believed to be the quaint compassion of an adult's: "but I think you need it more."

For a while, I was speechless. I wasn't grieving—not anymore. However that modest smile on his lips made me realize how much the corners of his mouth pulled up in a certain way that compensated for an embrace or a pat on the back. There wasn't any reluctance in the gesture this time and it'd been comforting. After I muttered a word of thanks, he nodded and then excused himself because he'd been searching for his cousin.

He's just being nice, I thought, as I absentmindedly began to nibble on the candy. It'd been sweet from Jinsei's dried strawberries, sweeter from his unneeded generosity. And then sighing, I finally acknowledged: No, he is nice.

I roamed about then to the great walls of the palace. The dragon eyes of the tapestries seemed to watch over me from afar as the shadow beneath my feet grew larger and taller with each step. My gaze stretched on for miles, but here I am lost still.

In the afternoon, a stark blue-gray mist eventually hazed over the skies, the white sun peeking through ashen clouds. There was a saying that the winter winds were blown from the northern mountains where each peak was sharp and snow-capped. However from the rolling fog that settled over the lands, my eyes couldn't even draw the mountains silhouettes from such distance.

For awhile, I stayed in the garden, marveling over the camellia trees in the snow; their deep crimson flowers blanketed with a sheer lining of frost. It was a lovely contrast, I thought. It hadn't been like the white camellias in the south, where each pale petal shed had been no different from fallen snowflakes. Behind me, I could hear the soft crunch of footfalls on thick ice. I turned back in curiosity.

You're always the first to find me.

"Lady Lili," Dae-ho called after me, a long scolding sigh puffing over his lips. "Where have you been?"

"Wandering around," I teased, a tentative silence following after like the cold trail leaving my chapped lips, but I realized he didn't appreciate the vagueness of my words and so to reassure him, I appended: "the palace gardens. They're very lovely, you know," with a touch of humor in my voice, I continued on: "but I was hoping to find Queen Koshime's Red Garden."

Se-hun, who tailed behind his partner, cracked a knowing smile at my direction after having heard the jape. "How did that fare, my lady?" his voice hadn't lent a sarcastic tone, but it was one of cool ease and mirth. "Successful, I hope."

I tilted my head to the side, a rebellious lock of hair falling on my shoulder. "Not quite."

While Se-hun and I exchanged blithe glances, Dae-ho hadn't really acknowledged the joke just as much as his inquisitive stare focused on what I held on my hands, which were fried pancakes that were popularly hawked from outside the castle. The cheeky brat that I was; I had the gall to beam up at him. From his questioning brow, I had to reassure him that I ordered a servant to buy me the said pastries minutes ago. "I was hoping I could find the both of you," I reasoned, frowning a bit when they had preserved little warmth from the cold, despite being wrapped over with palm leaves. "But it would seem it wasn't necessary."

Reaching up in tiptoe, I gave them their fried pancakes. At this point, I shouldn't be surprised anymore, but it always brought an odd feeling when I came to realize how small my hands were compared to my bodyguards. It would make sense after all; they were adults, tall and hulking in stature, and although I had grown for the past few months, my fingers were still but delicately round and tiny. The thought always pestered me.

It was Dae-ho's voice that spared me from my musings. "I believe," he spoke, taking a bite of the bread, "you are intending to make me fat, my lady," as he thoughtfully chewed, the expression on his face in constant deadpan, I blinked several times to take note of the dry bluntness of his tone. Once the comment registered in my mind, the urge to snicker was resistless. Did he just make a joke?

Se-hun sent him a wry look, which Dae-ho responded with a shrug. Returning his gaze back at me, Se-hun tipped his head in appreciation. "You are very generous to us, Lady Lili."

It amused me to no end how different their reactions were. Such a strange pair, these two.

Before he helping himself with another bite, Dae-ho asked, "Are you feeling better so far?"

I paused right there. Gazing up at him, I would have replied if he needed a handkerchief because the crumbs on his uniform could be a tad distracting, but I hadn't because Dae-ho must have had a handkerchief to clean himself up with and that I knew it'd just be a foolish excuse to ignore the question. I bashfully nodded.

And then something caught my periphery. It'd been a second, perhaps. In my line of sight was a flash of gold—a wisp of hair, like twined sunlight. The wiser part of me stood its ground, the other more selfish one coveted in its unsated curiosity.

Se-hun called back my attention. "Does something bother you, Lady Lili?"

I smiled at him. "It was nothing."

Exposition Corner:

Chikashishū: in Koukan translation, it should mean 'The Collection of a Thousand Flower Odes'; the term 'flower odes' pertaining to its flowery language used in a song-like form. An allusion to Shih Ching, a collection of classical Chinese poetry.

The Chrysanthemum's Song: a poem by Kai poet Shigeisa about a human soul being reborn as a flower. Although at first, it may seem like it holds more significance to Lili (and it does, literally), it still is Lady Yong-hi who chose the poem so this poem kind of reflects her life in a way.

Queen Koshime and the Red Garden: Queen Koshime was King Hiryuu's wife and the eldest daughter of Geon Siryeong, a vassal and sworn ally to Hiryuu and the Lord of Yune Province, now recently changed to Kuuto.

According to legend, the Red Garden is said to be a gift by King Hiryuu for his wife; its private grounds were known to be built at the heart of Hiryuu Castle. It was famous for its orchard of red camellias (the Royal family's emblem). There are little to no written accounts of the Red Garden and currently no sightings of the structure within the complex, which may have been burned alongside Hiryuu Castle during the Naosono Rebellion during the reign of King Dosaeng; Hiryuu Castle had been rebuilt two years after the rebellion, sparing only the sacred catacombs of King Hiryuu from the fire due to its structure being built below the castle, but most of the natives believe it to be due to their gods' intervention. Although the Red Garden's existence is questionable, it is a subject beloved by poets and bards due to it being timelessly deemed as King Hiryuu's affection for his wife.

So Lili meant that reference to be a joke. I know the exposition is overmuch but I find its small significance to this story kind of sweet. Who knows, maybe we'll learn more about Hiryuu and his wife, maybe not? Anyways, the Red Garden may be referenced again in future chapters.

Chapter Text

to know a fish go to the water
to know a bird's song go to the mountains

"The Earth is a babe still

In nights spent suckling o'er pale light

Of the Moon that cradles the lands and seas

But She weeps, too, in her transience

At the break of dawn.

There, the Moon fades like morning mist

And the Earth becomes a man again

Whenever they part."

Elegant hands clapping, Lady Yong-hi praised, "That is very lovely, Lili."

A breeze whistled through the brilliant red foliage of the flame trees in Lady Yong-hi's private gardens. Long crimson summers were beautiful in the north, I recalled. The fire season had made its mark in the scenery; the warm sun beating down on the painted eaves of the pavilion we occupied, the vibrant sprays of matured valerian and mountain irises, and the bowl of ice water next to the Lady for dipping her hands.

"I am humbled, my lady, but I still think I need practice," I admitted, hiding the glumness of my tone with modesty. I memorized the verses perfectly, but it nagged me to no end; my tongue slipped in the middle part and there were lisps in the last one.

Lady Yong-hi smiled in encouragement. "Let me assure you; you did very well for your age," she lifted her cup to her mouth, musing over her sweet dew tea; the brew was clear and pale as white citrus flesh, a stray kerria petal floating atop. "There lay the Moon wept," she uttered in Kai. Whenever she spoke in foreign tongue, it made her voice naturally deep and eloquent beyond compare. However I longed to understand why she always sounded so poignant in it. "It is a bit difficult reading Lady Kohyoe's pieces, her prose could be quite elaborate and nuanced."

Her painted lips captured the rim, taking a delicate sip. "Which leaves me to wonder," the Lady said, fine brows knit in curiosity, "why have you chosen one of her poems?"

"Mother told me she was your favorite," I confessed, pursing my lips. A mild heat crept at my neck. "I want to read her works for you."

The moment Lady Yong-hi beamed, my heart leapt. She'd always been so lovely, but there was something that made my chest swell in the way her lips curled and her cheeks dimpled. It felt rare and girlish. Like a reflection, I smiled too, of how contagious it was.

Fingers pressed to her mouth, Lady Yong-hi giggled. Her blue eyes found mine and they crinkled in blithe. "You are such a precious girl," she uttered, as her hand reached for the top of my head and began to smooth my hair in a fond caress. "That is very considerate of you, Lili."

For an interval, I forgot who I was and started to act like my physical age. I didn't mind. That's exactly how I felt, like a blushing coy little girl.

"Now, tell me, my sweet girl," the Lady tapped my nose, effortlessly riveting my attention. "Who is your favorite poet?"

Having cleared my mind, I answered, "Hogai, my lady."

"Oh, a Koukan poet."

I bobbed my head. "His works are simple but they are beautiful as well. I like most of his poems, actually."

Craning her head to the side, Lady Yong-hi then enthused, "Is that so? Shall I recite one of his works?"

Before the question was answered, a soft-spoken voice intervened from the threshold.

"Mother."

There Soo-won was; small and nimble, as he was ushered in by a maidservant. He strode towards the table, light in his steps, despite his layered robes of cream, clove-tan, and deep maroon. Lady Yong-hi brightened; the twinkle in her eyes reminded me of my mother's when she felt the urge to embrace and coddle me with affection.

"Soo-won," his mother beckoned for him; her face colored in delight, and for awhile, I felt happy for her. And a tad jealous of the boy. "Come, there is a vacant seat next to Lili. Would you like tea, my dear? There are some biscuits here too."

Somehow, I instinctively moved away a little once he situated himself on his cushioned seat. Sharing time with this mother-and-son pair alone made me comparable to an outsider who watched them a bit too closely—intimately—against my liking. I loved spending hours with the Lady, but her son was the apple of her eye. I'd rather not take that away from him.

After Soo-won regarded me with a courteous nod which I returned with the same curt gesture, he then waved his hand, assuring his mother: "It's fine. I've already eaten with Father. I came to see if you're doing well."

"I am, my Won. It's very sweet of you to be here for me," replied Lady Yong-hi, pouring tea on an empty cup. "Will you stay with us?" her tone was hopeful, that it immediately felt bad to remind her that even her tea had gone cold.

With a dejected sigh, Soo-won's head dipped. "I'd like to but I still have my lessons."

"Oh. Is that so?" her lips pulled back, but her smile remained in understanding. "Then another time, I hope?"

Soo-won nodded. His golden hair tumbled on his collar. "Of course, Mother," he assured, his mouth curved up, and gently, "another time."

Once he departed from his short visit, I did my best to buoy her up with our conversations. However it never escaped me that his tea cup was left untouched for a time. That was until his mother had the heart to drink it all herself.

I idly kicked a pebble.

It was high noon and I already didn't fancy the idea of mindlessly talking to Soo-won about how pretty the flowers were this time around. It was four times, I recalled with a miserable sigh. Five year-old girls were quite a tedious bunch, weren't they?

Prodding a rosy cluster from an old bellflower shrub, I missed Haru. Pretty as flowers were, that boy wouldn't give a damn whenever he stomped one unsuspectingly. I blew out a long sigh, disturbing a lady bug from a flower stalk. I watched it flee with its tiny wings and a part of me longed to fly away.

As if they had a will of their own, my feet began to move. At the back of my mind, I thought that I could perhaps share a hearty talk with my bodyguards though I had no inkling were they stationed themselves. Treading about, I was a little relieved that my peach-colored dress was simpler than the usual heavy garb my mother made me wear. I owed thanks to Jinsei's summer heat for that.

In my aimless walk, the winding paths were like a maze; one could get lost for hours in the quiet scenery and you wouldn't even mind it. Tall gnarled evergreens would line the lawn with birds crooning on rigid branches. There would also be massive walls of moss-ridden stone and multiple stone wells and gates made of hard ashwood. Somehow, I found myself imagining a golden-haired boy walking down the same path with so much adventurous spirit in his eyes.

He might as well have, I mused absentmindedly, and then added: countless of times.

It also occurred to me as an afterthought that my bodyguards would have a difficult time searching for me with this kind of complex structure; provided that I was expected to spend my time with the lordling after his classes, which would mean that I would be offered a few precious minutes of privacy. An idea dawned, and as much as I was ill at ease of the prospect, I was quite happily anxious at the thought of leaving the castle.

After all, there were numerous occasions I found myself wishing to experience the streets outside by foot, to know how different it'd been from home. It felt very limiting having only seen Jinsei behind the small window of a drawn carriage.

With a tucked pouch full of silver and a passable dress, I set on fulfilling that end. My destination led me to the outer gates of the castle, flanked with two guards who were better off tagged as my adversity at this point. Conspiring behind the husk of an old oak tree, I gingerly considered my options, however each one didn't strike me effective, unless there was a different route. A rear gate maybe, a secret passage, or an empty servant's outlet.

My head buzzed from the hot weather and something awfully pesky was poking at my shoulder.

"What are you doing here?"

"Soo-won?" I almost yelped out, turning back to confront him. I swear—this kid's going to give me a heart attack. I straightened my posture, maintaining the image of propriety. "I thought you had your lessons."

Soo-won swayed a little. "They ended awhile ago," he explained, pushing back a blond strand of his hair. "I saw you walk here."

I curved a quizzical brow at him. Clearing my throat, I clarified: "So you followed me here?"

Amusingly, a delicate blush dusted over his cheeks. Pressing my lips together, I withheld the urge to snicker, for his sake.

His seafoam eyes averted away. "You were going the wrong way."

"The wrong way," I repeated, tipping my chin up. "I wasn't lost."

"So you know where you were going," his tone implicated a statement more than a question.

I simply nodded.

"Lili," Soo-won whispered conspiratorially, "why are you heading towards the gates then?"

"I was," I started, after stopping at mid-sentence. I blinked at him, realizing that I may have underestimated the boy in front of me. My mind raced and it hadn't been difficult conceiving a credible excuse, but it meant returning back to the gardens and the niceties and the flowers. Screw the flowers. Sucking breath through my teeth, I proposed to him instead: ". . .do you want to sneak out of here?"

Perhaps, the boy had been unsuspecting of me at first because he took my proposition with astonishment. After all, hadn't I always presented myself to be such a good obedient daughter around him?

However it did get on my nerves; for someone so young, I couldn't read the hidden thoughts that swam on his head. Soo-won was quiet and deliberate for a second before collecting his words. His head cocked to the side. "Is Lady Han-byeol aware about this?"

Oh, don't start. I schooled my face into that of calm and insouciance. "No," I said, muttering in a child-like tone: "don't tell."

His mouth was sealed and his eyes told no promises, but Soo-won still kept an open ear. Unpredictable as ever.

But I did notice the patience in his gaze. I dragged out a sigh. "I'm curious. I've never set foot out once," was my admittance, neither embellished nor truncated. If it was the honesty of my intentions he wanted, then so be it. "Mother wouldn't allow me outside."

Soo-won mulled over my reason. In a way, I thought he may have understood the sentiment. He'd been no different from me after all; a blue-blooded child barred within the confines of family name and obligation. "Don't go there," he responded, causing my ears to perk up. "Those gates are always guarded. Come with me," his feet decidedly moved, swerving back to a different path, "there's one here where the servants use. . ."

I followed him, boldly posing the question: "You're helping me?"

"I thought you said you want to go outside," Soo-won didn't deny what I asked, but he didn't spare me a glance either. "Do you change your mind?"

Resolutely, I told him, "No."

And so he took the lead and I stalked behind him.

I sighed once again. I strode forward until we walked side by side.

The boy was still somewhat ignoring me.

"Soo-won."

"Yes?"

"Are you going outside too?"

"You don't have someone to guide you out," Soo-won replied, his robes billowing from the wind, "and back here."

My arms crossed petulantly. "I don't easily get lost."

Soo-won shrugged. "Okay."

I pouted at that.

"Soo-won."

"Hm?"

Taking a deep breath, I raised the question: "Why are you sneaking out?"

And then I waited and waited. Soo-won stopped; something shone in his eyes. "I want to go outside."

From the path we trod laid the winding road strewn with the terraced rice fields and the straw and stone huts of the farmers—whom, from our stroll, acknowledged Soo-won with a warm boisterous welcome and he returned each with bright-eyed sentiments. There was familiarity, a kinship almost with the manner they interacted, as if he'd been one of the plowman's sons.

Won, they would endearingly say, followed by a string of sentences of how he'd grown tall and he should visit more often; the latter earning a quick chide from the elders: "Now, now, you should know better, the lot o' you. Won's still needs to continue on with his studies," said the most outspoken of them and then began to pat Soo-won's head, "but it don't mean you can't visit us, Won."

The young farmers and herders would scratch their heads bashfully, grumbling under their breaths. One of the grain women cried out, "But Won hasn't come back for two full moons. Look at poor Hei, been wondering where little Won's at," she gesturing at the dog that rested lovingly at the boy's feet, its white tail wagging. "Besides everyone's been waiting too."

And so everyone did, and they came forward, motioning us to the long tables from the front yard of their residence, where some of the farmer's wives and daughters prepared meals outdoors. There were peppers and rice grains dried under the sun, steaming pots, and even wild hare skewered over the cooking fires. They insisted we join them for luncheon, especially the elders, whom generously fed us with a humble meal of rice porridge, a salad of lettuce and perilla leaves drenched with sweet vinegar, and salted eggs. There would also be halved pears and strawberries on bowls, and then eventually servings of black tea that had a very distinct sharp scent.

As they gathered together, they chattered on the table while some stuffed their mouths and a few hauled out a fresh batch of dishes. It had none of the formality of a nobleman's dining hall, but it was rather affably raucous whenever my eye caught one of them jeering from a harmless joke or even when siblings had small petty quarrels over who-got-this-first.

There would be elders who would scold, men who would call over their old mothers and wives to the table, and the family dog would sneakily get morsels of vegetables from a fussy child. The togetherness brought a nostalgic feeling in my chest, and for a moment, I might have just forgotten that I sat next to Soo-won, who was laughing alongside them because of an inside joke.

Sitting opposite from us, a man named Mako spoke, "Hey, Won, aren't you going to introduce us to your new friend?" he plucked a gingko nut from a bowl and popped it on his mouth.

Soo-won's eyes blinked owlishly. "Oh," he began, sending a cursory glance at me, "this is—"

"I'm Lili," I smiled genuinely. "Nice to meet you all."

My sudden change in tone and manner did catch him off guard. It'd been overfamiliar and perky, lacking all the subtle lilt of the Water tribe's reserved intonation. The look on Soo-won's face was priceless, to be honest.

They murmured happily among themselves; while the some cooed, the others flushed at the introduction.

Mako leaned on his palm. The sunspots on his cheeks creased from a telling grin. "Where're you from, Lili?"

Debating whether to be honest or not, I considered to act on the former. "Suiko."

"All the way from the south, eh?" Mako replied in pleasant surprise before calling out to the others: "Isn't Pyo from the south?"

"I ain't deaf! I'm right here," grouched a slouched man three seats away from Mako. "Who's from the south?"

"This little miss 'ere. All the way from water capital, she says," Mako gestured, thumb pointed at my direction. "Cute, ain't she?" he complimented even, but the question was met with aloof disregard.

Where Mako was warmly approachable and tanned, the other man was a stark contrast with his icy greetings and his eyes, like cold cruel pieces of malachite stone. His hair was graying too, vaguely reminding me of white ash against burnt charcoal. "Pyong-ho."

Mirroring his straightforwardness, I replied in earnest, "Lili."

His thick brows lifted in mild surprise. "Not shy, hm."

I arched a brow at him. "No."

Pyong-ho huffed, sliding in an offhand snide: "water kids are always shy snobs."

"Not all," I told him with a shrug, "but I guess that's true."

Pyong-ho didn't comment further. "Suiko, huh," he grilled me beneath his unblinking stare; it almost felt like being swallowed whole in a frigid gulf of sea-green. I didn't let myself be daunted. "I'm from Nairiso, pretty sure ya haven't heard of it."

"Near Sensui, right?" my lips smiled at the disclosure and the barest dent of shock from the man's inexpressive face. "I know a . . . friend who lives there," and then I was overcome with nostalgia by the words Dae-ho shared to me from a memory of hot tea and biscuits: "he says the coasts there have a nice view of the sea." That they were big and blue and beautiful.

On the other hand, Pyong-ho had none of the soft sentiments my bodyguard held as he swirled the red-brown brew from his cup, pale eyes callous and ruminative. "Coasts, eh. Sure, it's pretty," he lifted a nonchalant shrug, finally drinking his tea through a large gulp. "Tell me, kid, there still fishy business goin' around?"

"Pyo, don't just ask this kinda thing to the kid," Mako bawled out, stamping a hand on the table. "Look. You think she knows a thing or two about nada—" he paused at mid-sentence once he stole a quick glance at me, "things that happen there."

"I left the place for a reason," retorted Pyong-ho from the edge of his teeth, unaffected of the reprimand. Slouched and bent as he was, nothing appeared to thaw the bleak coldness in his eyes. He scratched the scar on his chin. "Psh, was just askin', anyways."

"Not like Lili knows 'bout it," Mako sighed in his tolerance, and then he shot me a look. "Do you, Li?"

I shook my head honestly, but the suspicion clung to me, like a ghost on my shoulder.

"See? Pyo, whydda have to be all broodin' around the kids, huh," Mako shook his head, making him appear like a disapproving parent. "That's why they don't like you."

Rolling his eyes, Pyong-ho scoffed. "Won likes me."

"Won likes everyone!"

A wooden bowl of fresh strawberries was pushed at my direction by a stout woman—Duri, was it? "Don't let him getcha, Li." Sitting next to Mako, Duri flashed me a smile, and as she leaned forward, she whispered conspiratorially: "Old Pyo always talks like that."

A freckled hand from my left plucked a large strawberry; the gesture meant to ease me to casualness. Ji-hye, whom I believed was Mako's younger sister, ate the red fruit whole. "You don't havta listen. He's sorta in a mood, must've been from the fields earlier," she said, chewing in contemplation. "Try the strawberries, Li," she motioned the bowl, taking a glance over my cup. "Oh, your tea's getting cold."

I would have bashfully declined the offer of another refill however Ji-hye was quick to snatch my half-empty cup, pouring the steaming black tea from the nearby earthen pot. Deciding to take a strawberry, I took a small bite. It was such a lusciously sweet contrast against the warmth of a dark malty brew and a bland-tasting porridge. I helped myself with another picking of strawberries.

Ji-hye, with the endearing spirit of an older sister, beamed at me. "You're in luck, you know. Grandma Hama's just bought one of those clay pots. They say those make the tea taste better."

And so there the conversations went. One after the other in a storm of words, changing and hurtling.

Distantly, one of them voiced out: "Eh? Aren't those overpriced? You shouldn't have bought 'em."

And then another. "But they say the best silks come from Kai."

"—better than ours, anyways."

"—did you know the. . ."

"Why would the King offer our land to Kai? That's doesn't. . ."

". . .but nothing ever changes. . ."

"—pshh, our soldiers are. . ."

"—useless—"

". . .in my time, when King Joo-nam wasn't old and ailing with—"

"—and the Crown Prince should've—"

"Hm, I heard a rumor about the fire capital yesterday that—"

"—you got a nice catch there, Won," Mako's voice interrupted. He grinned from ear to ear, winking at the flustered boy.

Soo-won seemed more horrified than embarrassed.

Taken aback, my brow twitched.

What am I, a snake?

"Don't tease him," said Duri, who jerked him with her elbow, making the man sputter out a chuckle.

"Am not. Besides he doesn't bring any girls at all," Mako defended. "It's just that mountain brat."

Mountain brat, I pondered, uttering aloud: ". . .Hak?"

Blinking, Mako stared curiously at me. "Eh, Li, you know the mountain brat too?"

This even drew Soo-won's attention and I had to tamp the urge to cuss.

"Uh, I've seen him before," was my minutely reason, and as to excuse myself, I appended: "though I haven't met him."

"Oh, good, I don't like him," Mako confessed with a wide guiltless smile. "Mountain brat doesn't know when to respect his elders."

"Stop gossiping behind his back," another man scolded next to him. "The kid's pretty all right."

Mako snorted at that. "Rude, you mean!"

"He's quiet all the time."

"He does have a smart mouth."

"That's because ya made fun of the kid's feathers!"

"And Uncle Mako also underestimated him," Soo-won intervened. "Hak doesn't like that."

"Oh no, Won, not you too," Mako exclaimed, his head shaking in dejection. Most of them amusingly rolled their eyes and uttered hushed remarks under their breaths, while some openly laughed at his droll behavior—Mako could be such a loud animated man, quite frankly—and I found myself doing the same. Soo-won was a little too pleased and expectant of the reaction, holding back a chuckle.

At the back of my mind, it hit me: his innate charisma had always been a distinct quality of his character. However in my speculation, it never occurred to me when I witnessed it before my eyes that these common folk loved him. Truly, unbelievably—I thought once more, despite his social standing as the Crown Prince's son. This earned him a sliver of my awe. Glancing at him now in lively conversation about something as mundane as a dog and rice bowls made me crack a smile, but some part of me ached too.

Could I still hate this boy more for what he would become—the traitor, the usurper of the throne, if I'd known this side of him?

I feared the question—that fateful night, the betrayal—and thus acted in a passive dismissiveness that I grew to be ashamed and accustomed of. Eventually the visit had come to an end; he beckoned for me onwards, ardent still from his reunion, after waving smilingly in farewell. The best I could do was simper at these villagers. They were kind and earnest in heart, good people I'd love to meet again.

We continued on, and from afar, the road almost appeared like a dirt snake from the high sprawling district; at the end of the lane were the townhouses, along with their wood sheds and low stone hedges. The open market greeted me through sights of a variety of stalls—clothes and wares, poultry, fruits and vegetables. The fish vendors mongered their shellfish, the tradesmen sold their import silks and porcelain, and there was even a commotion over the region's popular sweet potatoes. For a moment, I was in wonder of the bustle and the humid heat and the sounds and smells of the market.

I curiously watched a child beam over painted wooden tops and fish kites from a toy booth. "Are you familiar of Niwa Market?"

Soo-won sent me considering look. "I have heard of them from Master Mundok," he told me, thumb cupped on his chin, "the flower market, yes?"

I bobbed my head, reminiscing the first time Haru brought me there. "Have you been there?"

His lips pulled into a slight frown. "No," Soo-won said with a touch of longing. "But I'd like to see it."

"It's nice," I reassured him, in which he regarded me with mild interest. "It's a bit like this, I believe. Only it's louder and larger and nothing outmatched its flowers. There were all sorts of things there too," and I sighed at the memory, knowing full well I was getting sidetracked with this self-indulgent confession: "I suppose I kind of miss it."

As if sensing the nostalgia in my tone, Soo-won gave me a smile, and in a gentle utter, he offered kindly, "I could show you around here, if you'd like."

With a nod, I let him.

The wild apricots are cheaper here than in Suiko, I took note, adding to my recollection: Jinsei's plump strawberries, taro root, and, of course, sweet potato. Teas such as mugwort and smoked-dried pine were a commodity however other choices like sweet flower teas were very limited in stock against the surplus of their strong black blends.

"—lychee?" I recognized it from a cluster of the ripe red fruit presented from a nearby stand.

"Hm?" Soo-won peered next to me, inspecting the lychee bundles. "Ah, so it is."

I blinked, dumbfounded. From my observation, lychee didn't grow in these kinds of lands and climate, and I was almost prepared to inquire the fruit vendor about it when he detected my intentions: "It's an import from Kai. It's also very sweet than it appears," his head tilted at me, but it belied that slight calculation in his stare. This close, I could see the figurative winding of gears in his mind. "If you're curious."

I stopped at my tracks. Had he actually been scrutinizing me this whole time?

Soo-won should be seven at this point and to be that sharp was something I was wise enough to not draw his attention to. I excused myself through telling him that I rarely saw lychee from our wet markets, which was partially the truth, and we went on sauntering about the area. He didn't impose to question me further about it.

We went on with our stroll, crossing over pathways that were decked with shops and stalls. Even within the bustle of it all, the boy was familiarly known in these parts, often greeted or beckoned to come forward. There was the occasional pat on the head, the informal name-calling, and a terse exchange of greetings. From the sweet potato stall, there was a kind elderly woman who even offered us candied sweet potatoes wrapped in dried bamboo leaf. I was prepared to pay however she declined smilingly: "A friend of little Won's should receive the same favor, no?"

We're not friends, though. Tucking my pouch back in my sleeve, I didn't repress an amused smile. I nodded to the sweet potato vendor. "Thank you."

Somehow, I did manage to buy two more candied sweets for half the price from her stall.

"A lot of people seem to know you here," I mentioned, as we walked together. A painted parasol was caught in my line of sight. "Are you that popular?"

Nibbling on a sugary potato wedge, Soo-won was quick to point out. "Why did you buy two more?"

"These are for my bodyguards," I said, eyeing the makeshift bag knotted from green-dyed cloth that carried the sweets. "About that question. . ."

Soo-won tapped a finger to his chin, musing aloud: "Oh. I should have bought one for mine too."

"Mister Joo-doh is yours, right?"

"Yup."

"Do you always go out from the castle?" I asked harmlessly, anticipating for a response, as I took a bite of my sweet potato. "You seem very familiar of the places."

Then a casual shrug. His wandering eyes watched over the store fronts. "I believe so."

I persisted, regardless. "Without your bodyguard?"

Soo-won blinked at me, losing his appetite altogether. "Lili," he began; a raindrop slid on his cheek. His hand stretched out. "It's—"

I gawked up. The skies were as bright as a mother-of-pearl, hazed over by a soft stream of pale mist, but the rain poured still over our faces; a hopeful rain that gleamed a pale, pale gold. There was a breeze, warm with vapor; it winnowed over the skirts of my dress, brushed against my cheek and hair like a mother's infinite caress. "It's raining," I whispered, but the sun beamed still in its heavens, over awnings and wet grass and heads of hair.

I felt a tug, my eyes blinking over small fingers curled on my damp sleeve. Eyes like the sea stared at me, flecked in gold. The sun must be in them. For an interval, I forgot about the sweetness of the rain, the footfalls splashing over puddles, and the orange petals trampled under my shoe, when the boy led me under a canopy covering.

We waited in that small corner with the cold on our shoulders. I would have offered my handkerchief to him for wiping his water-streaked face if he hadn't done so first to me, which I kindly declined. Wet and soggy from the downpour, our candied sweet potatoes were left uneaten on the ground. I tightly clutched onto the makeshift bag. At least, that was saved from the rain.

Sniffing, Soo-won looked up. "A marriage between a sun crow and a turtle," he muttered under his breath before flushing at the confused look I sent him. "Ah, i-it's a saying here when it's raining like this."

I did reflect on it, the realization washing over me like a wave. "Oh, that saying." His chagrin didn't suit him well, rare and amusing as it was, and as to relieve him, I shared smilingly: "Where I'm from, they believe a sea dragon gave birth," I recalled, mulling over belatedly that Haru had brought up a different saying. "Actually, there's a lot, now that I think about it. It's a bit silly, isn't it?"

Soo-won nodded, simpering back in agreement. Beneath his blond lashes, he then gazed on a riveting pair in the gentle rain: it was an adolescent boy who carried his old mother from his back.

I couldn't tell what dwelled within his mind at that moment; if his eyes were overcast from a complicated thought. Soo-won was just quiet. But he did sigh. It was brief and inaudible, like a fleeting sentiment. "I, Lili," he began, grappling for words, "I appreciate it."

I was a bit startled from his words. I prompted him very carefully, "What for?"

A small half-smile curved his lips. "For spending time with my mother," Soo-won said in a sincere voice, gaze lowered to his feet. "She seems happy around you, even when she's in a sickbed," he shifted a little; there's something akin to a haze clouding his eyes. I sought for it still, that sliver of sunlight. He mumbled softly this time, maybe to himself: "even though I should have done. . ."

Better, I supplied, my eyes softening. His mother must mean the world to him.

Soo-won had always been such a peculiar boy. Sometimes, he felt too mature, too perfect, for his age. A paragon of the good son who knew what to say and act, given the situation; however the illusion faded like mist upon seeing him now, covering the tide of emotions he must have been uncertain on, must have kept for quite a time. It stumbled on his tone after all, that wishful thinking.

"She talks a lot about you, you know." I disclosed to him in high hopes I could lift his mood. This made his eyes widen and I was a little happy when he listened to me. "You can always join us," my voice went on, words reaching and reaching, "I think she'll be happier when you're there, Soo-won."

Soo-won was at a loss of words.

For awhile, I was quiet and terrified at the prospect that I must have crossed the line too far. This wasn't supposed to be my concern after all. But I had to assure him, to just let him know she loves him so much too because I could tell how he strove so hard just to be that perfect child. My fists clenched. I realized that now, bit by bit, why you're the way you are.

Resigning myself to a sigh, I tried to appease the stagnant air between us. "Besides, we can learn and read Kaisho together," I suggested, feeling a tad daft for uttering it aloud because he must have already had a teacher for that subject. I offered him a tentative smile anyway. However it felt too uneasy to be a convincing smile. "She's really good at teaching me."

"She's," Soo-won awkwardly cleared his throat, "She's very good at it," he did attempt to smile back at me, shaken as mine was. The air between us grew thick and heavy, a painful silence wrought within, just when the skies cleared and the rain ceased; yet even the sun seemed to still cower behind its shroud of rainclouds.

Pursing his lips, Soo-won opened his mouth, uncertain whether to speak or not. On the other hand, the apprehension clawed on my throat.

Here we were again, with our high walls and shutters.

"Lady Lili."

"Lord Soo-won."

And I finally breathed out.

As if the unresolved confrontation hadn't happened, we moved on with our facades. Stepping out of the awning, we were met by the familiar profiles of our bodyguards.

Pale with anger, Joo-doh stood tall and stern; his brows furrowed and his expression unrelentingly harsh. "Had I not always told you to not wander out without permission? You should have brought along a bodyguard at least," he chastised, his voice raised and thundering. "And you had to bring Lady Lili with you, you reckless boy."

"We're really fine, Joo-doh," Soo-won was unfazed with the manner his lips pulled up, treating his bodyguard's reprimand like a normal occurrence. "We just spent our time from the farmlands and the market, is all."

"Like what he said," I smiled innocently before an unconvinced Dae-ho.

"That was still irresponsible of you to not tell a single soul," Joo-doh frowned at the boy's sheepish grin. "Your mother was looking for you."

"Like what he said," Dae-ho repeated my words, which almost made me cry out 'copycat.' Regardless, Dae-ho wouldn't have really cared if I did call him out on it. "Your nursemaids are also in a flurry, might I add."

"They are always like that," I retorted before handing him the candied sweet potatoes I bought him. "Oh, and this is yours. You should share it with Se-hun." The man in question was absent and I would have inquired the reason behind it though it wasn't necessary to ask. Dae-ho and Joo-doh were quite capable enough in scouring for the two of us, which did render me curious on how they interacted than cooperated in their search. I grinned when Dae-ho accepted my treat, sparing me an overdue rebuke. Mother, however, might not take this escapade just as lightly.

I took a step forward. "Mister Joo-doh."

His brown eyes darted at me. "Lady Lili," Joo-doh acknowledged, and in an attempt to temper down his tone, he asked as neutral-sounding as he could: "what is it?"

His voice had still retained its coarseness from the heat of his scolding earlier and his fixed stare remained sharp as steel, but I did consider the thought that he tried to be approachable anyway. He appeared like the kind of man who could scare children with a scowl. "I was the one who wanted to go outside," I confessed, even though I hadn't been fully contrite about it. My head dipped respectfully in apology. "He came along because I didn't have anyone with me. I'm to blame so I'm sorry for worrying everyone for my actions."

Joo-doh tensed, blowing out a winded sigh. "Lady Lili, you don't have to," he spoke out minutely. "Please, stand straight. That isn't necessary." Once I abided to his request, only then did he appear relieved. Clearing his throat, he composed himself. "Regardless, whether if he came along to keep you in check, he should have still told someone that the both of you intend to take a stroll outside. Just as you should have done as well."

Then there returned his open aggravation. "It's not safe for noble children to wander about so recklessly."

"I understand," I nodded, producing the other spare of sweets from my makeshift bag. Frankly, this was supposed to be for Se-hun. "You can have this."

His forehead creased. "You don't have to, my lady."

"Oh please take it," I insisted. From the corner of my eye, I shot a quick glance at the boy and mused at the back of my mind if I was going out of my way to save his skin as well. I brushed it aside, in vain. "You look quite famished, Mister Joo-doh. Take it as compensation."

Joo-doh directed a questioning glance at Dae-ho, who returned the gesture with a nod, as if it sent the message: you should just accept it.

"Dae-ho," I began, as we ambled behind the bantering pair before us. "Tell me about the coasts in your home."

Insouciant, Dae-ho shrugged. "They're like coasts."

Shooting him an accusing look, I pouted. "You said before that they were beautiful."

Dae-ho drew a quiet breath; his jade-green eyes ever so calm and distant. I pondered how far could they stare ahead, from the northern mountains to the seashores. Then he spoke, as if it had always been common knowledge: "Aren't they all?"

Sometimes, I wished that I saw things as he did. His beautiful blue coasts, where the rolling seas lapped against the rocks. "Did you ever think of going back?"

There was no need for words when the question was met with a nod that resonated louder than a voice.

This time, it was his turn to inquire. "Why would you ask?"

Uncertain at first, I held his hand. His palm was calloused from years of wielding a blade but it was warm against mine; a warmth, I believed, he always had, deep inside. I inhaled. "I met someone who used to live in Nairiso," I admitted, my gaze dropping as low as the hems my skirts, "He said that. . ." and then my voice failed me when it lapsed into a faint dull mumble, "bad things were happening there."

His large hand gripped onto mine, a firm gentle squeeze. A sigh shuddered out of his lips. "You don't have to concern yourself with that, my lady."

From the winding path, we returned back to Biryuu Castle; the gasp of a brewing storm echoing behind our backs.

Exposition corner:

There lay the Moon wept: a poem from Kai poet Kohyoe about the metaphorical telling of her personal relationship with her late son. Another reflection of Yong-hi's life and maybe some foreshadowing. Don't get me wrong, Lili had no idea that this particular poem would hit too close to home for Yong-hi. Anyway, as for a more specific interpretation, I leave it up to you, my dear readers. I'll write about Hogai's poems someday.

"A marriage between a sun crow and a turtle" and "A sea dragon gave birth": one of the many folkloric sayings or names referred to sunshowers, which varies from regions and even countries.

A common saying in Jinsei and other highland provinces is the former. A sun crow is a reference to the three-legged crow or the golden crow in East Asian mythology, which is a creature that is believed to live and represent the sun; whereas turtles are believed to come from the moon. Jinsei's interpretation of this is meant to represent good luck and a happy union for two unlikely creatures to be together.

On the other hand, the latter saying is more or less taken seriously by believers and fanatics, but symbolically, it means a celebrated renewal or rebirth.

(Yes, yes, I know I'm so unsubtle. I'll hide back inside my hole now.)

Chapter Text

as distance tests a horse's strength
time reveals a person's character

What was built on top of an old mountain was Hiryuu Castle; crimson as the evening sun, as a tremendous red dragon that hovered over the lands, the thick forests and the rivers, the rolling hills and the windswept plains, the house districts and the city-markets, and the inner walls of painted wood and stone. The people claim that the ancient castle could touch the high heavens, and that the Dragon King's blood and bones rested there, deep within the chamber of the structure.

It was my sixth summer when I returned a second time; to the Sky Capital Kuuto, where the long roads were of stone, and the townhouses, the edifices, and the stalls were lined with paper lanterns that shone of rose-gold, fiery-amber, and bright red. Here, the buildings were tall and grand, layered atop each other like stairs, with curved roofs and miniature gardens.

"Lili," called Father, who patiently sat next to me. The ride may have rattled and ruckled, but it took more than a few trip inconveniences to stir his disposition, which made him a very accommodating travelling partner.

Facing away from the latticed window, I glanced back at him. "Yes, Father?"

"Are you not tired, my dear?" Father asked, muffling a yawn with his palm. "There is still time until we reach the castle."

"No. I'm quite awake, actually," I assured him. "I think you should rest. A nap won't hurt, no?"

Breathing out a heavy sigh, Father nodded off. "I suppose I should . . ." as his voice trailed softly into a quiet snore, his chin dropped, tipping his embroidered hat awkwardly from the movement.

I promptly adjusted his hat back in right order before I withdrew myself back to sight-seeing; in the streets of the capital, the signs were bold and the common folk were loud and alive, even when nightfall drew near and a few shops were about to close. There were artisans, apprentices, carpenters, bartering merchants, street performers entertaining a crowd, waitresses ushering guests in their teahouse, and a clique of students happily moseying about in their stiff formal clothes.

The night was young, but the stars were already driven out from their heavens. It didn't escape my notice then; how dirty orphans skittered outside a prominent brothel, how a desperate beggar stole meat from a butcher, and how an old man was driven to a corner by two rugged men. The glint of a rusted knife eclipsed the vivid rose-colored sceneries. Light and shadow coalesced it seemed, and they haunted me still, even after sliding the window close. I couldn't do anything, was my excuse, for the longest time.

From the mandarin tree, perched on an arched branch, a magpie preened its blue and white wings. The caprice to capture its likeness on paper overtook me, wishing I acquired my father's hand in paints. The sentiment lingered before I brushed it off and crushed one-fourth of my biscuit in my palm. When the bird peered curiously at my direction, I offered the crumbs with my raised open palm.

The little creature simply stared, a bit too mockingly. Resigning to a vexed sigh, I placed the crumbs on the windowsill and waited. As it came to its senses, the magpie flitted through the open window and pecked on the remains of my biscuit with its silver-tipped beak. My hand reached to pat its head, but it hopped away to the side, still feeding on crumbs. My brows scrunched together.

Fussy bird, aren't you?

My attention for it tarried for a few more seconds before the magpie withdrew from its place and fluttered back to the tree. Leaning on the windowsill, I flicked a tiny piece of crumb. At least the bird hadn't left a mess. I yawned. From the window, the predawn skies were a canvas in the brooding shades of dusky blues and purples.

Now the better question: why I milled around the imperial palace archives in such an early hour, I didn't really have a good excuse.

It was a whim, I supposed. Sleep hadn't come easy since my sojourn in the capital.

Rubbing my eye, I turned around and pored over great rows after rows of literature; tomes and texts, scrolls and scripts, books of old and new, bound in leather, paper, and even rare bamboo slips. My expectations were met, if not overwhelmingly so. As I trod aimlessly, I fingered the spines of books, tracing over the foreign and familiar scrawls written on their skin. A sigh rolled off my lips. It certainly made it very difficult to choose what piece I should read.

After deciding to randomly pick one book, only then did a call capture my attention. I faltered.

"Lili?"

That soft-spoken tone and high-pitch belonged to no one other than Soo-won, who was comfortably sprawled on the ground with a tome on his lap. His robes were a simple wrinkled assortment of his sleeping garments and a pale violet-gray outer robe, which was peculiarly similar to mine. I would have mused on our coincidental encounter though I found myself mulling how small he was seated there, like a duckling. He even bobbed his head like one. "Good morning."

It had been months ever since we talked to each other, ever since the escapade in Jinsei and the disclosures.

Taking in a quiet breath, I nodded in regard. "Good morning."

I was almost certain that the boy would rather dismiss me in favor of his tome. He seemed like the kind of child who wound up immersed in his books after all. However there was something akin to compensation in his eyes, and as to be polite, he traded words with me: "What are you doing here?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Wasting time, I guess," I confessed, and then without thinking it through, blurted out: "what about you?"

It was a dumb question. I blamed the earliness of the day, to stumble like this—and perhaps, his meek glances that interchanged in short periods between me and his tome. He should have just ignored me in the first place. "Oh, I'm sorry," I went along with a faux-pas instead, eyeing what he held, which was written with old drawn-out writing. "I'll leave if I'm disturbing you."

Soo-won cleared his throat. "It's fine," he assured me, and I was prepared to walk off to some uncharted part of the library, if he hadn't rambled on: "You weren't," he pursed his lips, a tentative pause followed after, "you could stay if you'd like."

Abiding, I lingered to the bookshelves like a ghost, ever silent and lurking in my steps. For once, the lengthy line of books daunted me and the need to submerge myself over the pages of a good story waned. My eyes averted, and there I found something to fascinate me. "Oh," I blinked at the sight, pulling out a lacquered gameboard from its place. "It is a shogi board."

Belatedly, Soo-won bared some semblance of interest in my discovery. "Do you play?"

"Yes," I replied, glancing back at him from my shoulder. Even though there weren't telltale signs of skepticism in his face, I didn't withhold a brag; honestly, it was a hard habit to break, when not one adult or child took my word for it. "I'm really good at it."

Soo-won made a small noise from the back of his throat. Hesitant at first, he then suggested, "Do you want to play it with me?"

I sent him a considering look. "All right," I said with a smile that was as sharp as a dagger. "But I'll warn you. I won't show you mercy."

Soo-won didn't mind the challenge in my tone. Perhaps, he might have even appreciated it.

Apparently, one aspect I did relate to him was in the game of shogi.

Once everything was assembled in place, the game consumed us then; his tome lay forgotten on his side and my boredom was cured with all but the alternate tap and tact in our pieces. What felt like seconds ticked on into hours; a silvery glow of light filtering from the windowsill, a cock crowing from some distant area.

Yet here we were: set in our match, sat on our cushioned seats, as we waited for something as small and vacuous as victory. A little competition never hurt after all. We played two rounds since then, and even though I won the first, there was something so uniquely admirable about him. Somehow each loss made him wiser. Having spent time over a single game for long, one would lose their patience over their losses to a girl meant for pleasantries and poetry.

I countered his move, ensuring a win for my part. On the other hand, Soo-won breathed out no resignation in his sigh. It was that of awestruck. "That was amazing!" he excitedly remarked, still arduous from the long game. "I was almost sure I got you on that one."

I never realized how tense my shoulders were or how parched my throat was when the match ended. I smiled at the green tea perched on the lacquered serving stand, which was graciously offered to us by an elderly servant who happened to encounter us by chance. "Well, you did take most of my pieces," I told him, before gratefully gulping down my tea. Our breakfast remained untouched; servings of soup, rice, eggs, fish roe, grilled eel, and steamed vegetables, sided with slices of apples. I picked up my chopsticks and dined.

"Yes." Soo-won observed my strategy thoroughly. The sight of him brought the feeling of nostalgia, how his eagerness reminded me of the times Father defeated me in our game. "But I didn't see you pull that last move," he said in contemplation, tugging the corners of his mouth into intrigued smile. "Would you tell me how you did it?"

I shrugged. "Okay. After breakfast," I chewed on my rice and then swallowed. "And your tea's cold."

"Oh," Soo-won fumbled over his teacup, mumbling airily: "I guess it is. . ."

Slightly dejected, Soo-won drank it anyway. I poured for him.

Having finished our meals with the empty dishes being taken care of by a servant, I explained my strategy just as he asked. He absorbed every word. It was simple, I thought. To liven him up. He looked too much like his mother, with smiles as bright as the sun.

Beaming, Soo-won thrilled. "Can we play another round?"

I nodded, starting to set the pieces back in place. I won for the third time. His spirit never wavered. I might have liked him for that; how he could charge in a lost match, never taking his losses to heart. Persevered, I would have called it, before considering the words: enthusiastically curious.

However footfalls echoed thunderously and the flap of a dark velvet cape overshadowed our heads.

The Crown Prince arrived like a storm.

Perhaps, it was true. In those verses, where the bards sung praises about men that were great and terrible; you could tell from a glance what kind of power threatened beneath, how it rattled you from the marrow of your bones in a kind of pure resonant fear one may also claim as awe. He wasn't called by many a name, though he was respected as a general and a prince, and to some a hard rationalist and a nonbeliever. There were some occasions he was lauded as a hero after the war between Xing, despite his ruthlessness when he beheaded the soldiers of his enemy nation.

Regardless, Grandfather Mosu acknowledged him, his mind, his confidence, and his strength. I, however, struggled to catch a breath from his overwhelming presence. As my nerves twisted and my knees trembled beneath my dress, I held my composure with practiced grace.

Unperturbed as ever, Soo-won confronted him with a grin that split his face in half. I found their interaction a bit too mundane, albeit his father's intonation with the manner he greeted us; so stern and strict, even in a casual conversation. Absentmindedly, my thoughts drifted back to Lady Yong-hi—and although she loved her son dearly, she seldom mentioned a heartfelt word about her husband. He wouldn't have mistreated her, I thought. Perhaps, it'd been like my parents.

"Father, Lili is really good in playing the game," Soo-won told him chirpily. "She beat me three times."

"Is that so?" Prince Yu-hon drawled out. It was beyond telling if it was one out of mild interest or dismissal. "Then let that serve you as a lesson to amend your shortcomings in strategy."

"Yes, Father," Soo-won understood with a nod.

"This time, I'd like you to pay attention."

Recognizing his father's tone meant for censuring him, I assumed that his admonition required privacy for the both of them when they play; obviously, without my presence, which I was quite willing to not intervene in. Shifting from my position, I kept my head low and respectful. "If you'll excuse me. . ."

"Girl," Prince Yu-hon's voice rose. "I did not dismiss you."

"I apologize, Your Highness." I kneeled back in my cushioned seat.

Arms crossed and menacing, the Prince went in his son's place. "You play shogi?"

Soo-won was docilely situated in the middle, where he beheld a full view of the board. Through a side glance, he gave me an assuring nod.

I sucked in a quiet breath through my teeth. "Yes," I replied, interpreting that he invited me to play a game with him. Once I wordlessly took it upon myself to return back together the pieces in neat order, he never questioned me in my actions. "I learned it from my father."

There was what I perceived to be a considering stare beneath all his daunting demeanor. Prince Yu-hon initiated the first move. It was a bold choice to put an offensive gold general on the frontlines. "Hm, I never realized General Joon-gi would have it in him to teach his daughter," his dark eyes were as sharp as a hawk's upon studying my movements. "Enlighten me what shogi is." It wasn't a request. More like a test of sorts.

Taking precaution, I advanced my horse. "It is the game of generals," I cleared my throat, supplementing: "a game of strategy."

The moment his fingers placed his third piece I saw through his game plan. It was a similar maneuver that Grandfather had used against me to end the match with only five simple moves. "Strategy indeed," said the Prince. "What use is strategy for a little girl?"

I countered it, hindering his red general with my dragon.

"Tact," I answered simply. "Your Highness."

His brows crept up his forehead, ever so slightly.

Our match lagged on for a few minutes or so. Concentrating, I could tell his decisions were measuredly precise and pragmatic, if not audacious, when he was willing to not spare most of his foot soldiers. A part of me believed it to be arrogance however I mulled over the thought that perhaps he highly prioritized the mobility of his generals with his king general positioned alongside its subjects.

His black general charged forward, plucking my silver general out of the game. "Tell me, girl," Prince Yu-hon drawled, brows inquisitive, "have you ever played against your grandfather?"

Taking in a deep breath, I nodded earnestly. "Yes, Your Highness."

"How many times?"

"I should say a few."

"And have you won against him?"

Blocking with a countermove, I took his gold general. His lips quirked.

In retaliation, he breached through my barricade and claimed one of my pieces as his own.

Sweat prickled at the base of my collar. Unable to move my jade general, I opted to risk my horse piece.

"No, Your Highness."

The Prince set down his black general. The dull thud that came after echoed through the walls. The game was over.

"I commend you for that little trick you pulled earlier," Prince Yu-hon smirked in lieu of an amused smile. "However I still find your strategy passive. You constantly resist attack and rely too much on your defenses. Asserting little offense, it leaves you with openings, such as this one," he censured at my faults on the board, on my cornered, claimed, and fallen pieces. All of which were rendered irredeemable. "It's a careless mistake. Keep a cool head in the match; it will do you no good if that trait is upheld skin-deep alone. In the future, improve on those weaknesses, An Lili."

Only then when the Crown Prince bid his parting words and left, I swallowed in a large breath. There was a twinge in my chest; my confidence crippled by an inch. I overlooked and overdid, that's how I was defeated.

"Lili," a gentle hand cupped my shoulder, "don't be discouraged. Father could be hard on people sometimes, but he's really impressed, honest," Soo-won reassured me. His voice was a little too kind, too earnest, for a boy who won in his losses. "He just scolded you so that you could do better next time."

The corners of my mouth curled up feebly at him. "Really?"

Grinning, Soo-won pointed a finger at himself. "He does that to me as well," he admitted in a jovial tone. "Besides if he wants you to improve that might mean he wants to play with you again."

I would have taken that as the best compliment I've ever had, if only I didn't blanch at the thought of confronting his father.

The sway of the wind was lost to the collective hiss and thud of wooden blades. Beneath the glare of the sun, men gathered over the training grounds. There were organized spars occurring between partners; sweat and salt on bared skin, strength stretched taut on muscles. Then came the slap of a strike, swift movement in tandem, and a buzz of energy zipping through the air.

These soldiers hadn't really minded that I was there. Perhaps, they picked up quickly that a little girl wouldn't have the nerve to interfere. Joo-doh trained alongside them as a supervisor, and at the time he recognized me from my spot, he must have told them off to ignore my presence. Regardless, nothing really changed and the small sliver of attention goaded some of them to flex most of their fighting capacity.

Leaning my weight over the balustrade, I nestled my chin on top of my folded arms; my shoulders hunched in the manner I could get rebuked for. It was lax and unladylike, and I was a little grateful that Se-hun tolerated me for my behavior. My nursemaids, overly prude and proper, tended to be a tad too skittish when situated to a place as grand as Hiryuu Castle.

Next to a tall vermillion pillar, Se-hun hovered over my shoulder. A knowing look gleamed from his ashen eyes. "You don't wish to mingle with the other children, Lady Lili?"

Resisting the urge to grumble, I frowned. "Not you too, Se-hun."

"Apologies, my lady," Se-hun said before exhaling out a sigh. Dae-ho wasn't by his side. "You're quite withdrawn."

"I suppose I am," I shrugged nonchalantly. "But I think I may just be tedious."

A thoughtful hum resonated from his lips. "If I may be so bold to ask, do the soldier's drills intrigue you?"

My eyes kept vigil on a certain pair. A wooden sword was launched, crossed by another, and then a swerve, thrust, sidestep—a hit to the neck, followed by a grunt. The curse vehemently blurted out was amusing.

"I'm not interested in swordplay," I admitted dispassionately. Besides, this kind of spectacle would be valued more by Haru. Sulking from my corner, half of my mind began to deeply miss his company and the other of the matter of acquiring a skill for self-defense. However the latter felt too cumbersome and my parents might as well be against the idea of me brandishing a sword around.

"Is that so?" Se-hun voiced out, watching alongside me. He never winced once at the crackling sound of beaten flesh. "Well, this might pique your interest; the young lordling is mastering the blade."

"Soo-won doesn't have enough muscle for that," I contradicted, brows furrowed at the prospect. "He's too small."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Se-hun bit down a chuckle. "He does try hard, Lady Lili."

As I humored him, my head cocked to the side. "Does he now?"

"I heard he is being trained under General Mundok," Se-hun explained in his rumination with a thumb hooked under his chin. "There is also his father as well, the Crown Prince," offhandedly, he maundered in a low voice: "thinking about it now makes me quite anxious of the boy's potential in a duel."

"Potential? With his soft pale arms," I pressed my cheek on my palm, staring numbly from my distance. A wandering falcon shot forth the horizon, soaring as if it could touch the sun. "No way."

Despite my denial, I was aware that he'd grow to be a great swordsman in a prodigious pace, an archer, and even a falconer. In the pretense of ignorance, I would like to entertain the thought that, as Lili had eloquently put it, Soo-won was like tofu, with his tofu arms and tofu face. I closed my eyes. Honestly, just let him be that boy, even just for awhile.

However it never did happen that way and that there was something detestably ironic in my position. As most expectations were, I might as well have held their future at the palm of my hand. It may come off as an arrogant notion, overdone even, but there remained a shred of truth about the matter: I knew and that's it. Though it wasn't simple, especially when the world behaved in a manner that didn't appear as predetermined as I believed it to be. Something changed and is perpetually changing. I began to fear the uncertain unpredictability of things that hung high above my head.

Then there was that golden boy: a child who'd been a bit too kind, a bit too generous. He was a boy who'd do anything to make you happy when he liked you. The very same boy who would learn how to stain his hands with blood.

For a moment, I averted my eyes away, and an unvoiced question crept at the back of my head.

Do gods laugh? I pondered over the dragons on the hangings above, crooked grins stretching wide on their jowls.

"So you believe in the Dragon gods, Lady Lili."

Tearing my attention from the stone deities, my eyes found curious brown ones. It was a noble boy; certainly, not one of the ilk my mother had introduced or had left unspoken about. The dark maroon cape and the flare of bold blood-red color dyed in the fabric were telling, as if whispering of great importance and fire-in-my-blood. Despite this, I might have recognized him from his long ash-brown hair.

The boy in question grinned sheepishly, taking a step closer. "Ah, it is you! Forgive me, there are very few devotees in the capital," he explained before flitting back his gaze back to the miniature household altar; green and blue ivy crept outside the walls that it was built onto like thick veins, however what lay within were carved figures of painted dragons, whirling and dancing on lacquered wood and stone, as with mid-air. "Only those who truly believe come back here."

My stare was riveted back to the famous Hebei Shrine, adorned with written scriptures and colorful tassels swaying from the open threshold. There was a charming branch of pear blossom, rice grains, and red beans as offerings. The fresh incense stick that was lit earlier ago made the air rife with the smell of spice and burnt ash. The kind that made me want to cough the smoke out of my lungs.

"The Dragon gods are still worshipped by the water people," I replied, but I had none of the sentiments of a faithful follower. Perhaps, the gods were real though it never meant I would pray to them. My voice was lost to its polished stoic intonation. "My mother happens to be one of them and so am I."

Almost taken aback by my tone, he nodded. "Oh, I see."

Feigning ignorance, I then gently asked, "Perchance, have we met?"

With wide frantic eyes, the boy might as well have jumped from his chagrin. "I-I don't believe so. Well, not personally, but I do recognize you from the Queen's funeral," he smilingly tried to compose himself. Somehow, I felt for the sighing aide behind him. "You are General Joon-gi's daughter, yes?"

"Yes," I answered coolly.

"Pardon me for not introducing myself, my lady," Tae-jun placed a hand to his chest, the cape on his shoulders flickering in bright carmine against the light. "My name is Kan Tae-jun, son of General Soo-jin. I am pleased to meet you."

Politeness was one thing, but had he always been so . . . amiable? From my recollection, Fire tribe noblemen always oozed with unnecessary smarm. Their children were same in that regard; all flourishes and flattery. I took note that he hadn't spoken one word of blandishment in his part. "Likewise," I said, before curtseying. "If you would excuse me, I am expected to return back to the castle."

Once I padded back to the side of my waiting bodyguards, Tae-jun followed after me with his own. "May I escort you back? I myself am expected by my brother to return at this hour."

It would be rude to deny him. However I could not help but muse if I had, would he throw a tantrum?

I stifled the urge to sigh. It would do me no good to raise disdain from him, and putting my mother's teachings into good use, I acquiesced. Se-hun might as well have been reassured of the prospect that I interacted with a child near my age. Dae-ho minded his own business, as he always had. Tae-jun's reticent servant watched us with mild interest—that, or perhaps to oversee his young master's slip of tongue.

And so we ambled ahead of our bodyguards, four steps behind our pace, as we crossed on an arched bone-white bridge and passed through the inner-districts. If my nursemaids tailed along, one would have scolded that I should have carried a parasol, even if the sun provided warmth from the late-spring chill. Another may have chastised me thoroughly that I should have brought along a female chaperone because I never seemed to lack the company of grown men and boys. How scandalous, I almost rolled my eyes at the thought.

Peering at the boy next to me who was modest enough to provide an arm's breadth of space between us, I traced over his features. He did take after his father; angular face, tall lean build, and similar hairstyle. General Kan Soo-jin was definitely not a man that was hard to miss or like either.

My eyebrows knit together. The resemblance was there, but it didn't quite feel the same. I would have condoned that he was too young and naïve to be as clandestine as his father though I couldn't seem to grasp what felt so off about him. My mind racked over it for a time, and as we went along the path and the quiet between us became too ill-fitting to be expected of blue-blooded youth, I initiated first: "You are being nice."

No longer surveying some ripe round peaches from a fruit stall, Tae-jun quirked a brow at me. "Does that surprise you?"

Odd response. I would have argued that he shouldn't have answered me with a question, but I proceeded being truthful anyway. "A little. I'm quite aware that both our lord fathers aren't in the most agreeable terms."

Father was never one to hold grudges, but he made an exception with the Fire General, regardless.

"I suppose I could understand that," Tae-jun replied with a knowing glint in his eye, shrugging about the matter. That didn't even bother him, not one bit. "How old are you, Lili?" and then genially, as to not appear too informal: "oh, may I call you Lili?"

I nodded in response. "I'm six."

"Is that so? I almost assumed you to be older. I believe somewhere in my age."

"How old are you?"

"Eleven," Tae-jun claimed, strangely without the need to boast that he was older. "But I'll turn twelve at the end of summer."

I would have replied that I would turn seven in mid-summer, but I found myself commenting on his uncharacteristically mature tone. "You don't sound like an eleven year-old, I think," I idly twirled a strand of my hair, observing him from the corner of my eye.

Tae-jun didn't budge. However a boyish grin stretched wide on his mouth, baring the slightest peek of teeth. "And what must an eleven year-old sound like?"

"I don't mean it like that," I crossed my arms petulantly. I wasn't certain if he took my word seriously or not; regardless, it felt more like the latter with the manner he consistently kept playing with my sentences. "Rather, you sound older."

Tae-jun shrugged. He did that a lot. "Many people say that."

This boy barely reached puberty in this age; long-limbed and taller than most, but a child still. Though even the carefree smile on his lips had an edge to it that held a kind of subtle confidence, round eyes sharper and shrewder. Had it lent itself like Soo-won's precociousness?

Recollecting that he had mentioned a brother, I brought up the matter as to continue our conversation. "How many brothers do you have?"

Tae-jun beamed at the question. "I only have one. He is my older brother," there was unabashed admiration in his voice, and from the luster in his eyes, he seemed genuinely mirthful at the thought of his sibling.

Somehow, I couldn't help but crinkle my lips into a small smile. I blamed it on my sentimentality, because in another lifetime I did have brothers of my own and having rekindled their memory brought a fleeting warmth to my chest.

Noticing my reaction, he kindly assumed, "Do you have siblings?"

Bobbing my head to the side, I sighed. "No," I said, betraying my thoughts. In an attempt to prolong our talk, I raised the innocent question: "Don't brothers always argue?"

Tae-jun almost looked like he was about to snicker. "Not always," he hooked a thumb under his chin, as if he was reminiscing about the matter. "In our case, I guess we argue quite a lot. But most of it is just from petty things."

Curiously, I pressed on, "Like what?"

Tae-jun shook his head, his ash-brown locks swaying from his shoulder. An amused gleam shone from his eyes. "That will be my secret."

My brow arched in response. "I think you seem like a person who keeps plenty of secrets, Tae-jun."

Shrugging insouciantly, Tae-jun smiled. "Don't we all?"

I stared at him. "I suppose."

"Ri-Ri, don't be stubborn," growled Haru, contending back at the demanding stallion after having fed it its share of grains and flax seeds. "It's not like you're some kind of princess, you mule," from his snide remark, the horse neighed as if to threaten him, a hoof thumping on the ground, "fine, fine, you're not a mule."

I grinned impishly behind him. "Did you really miss me that much that you're starting to call Rihito with my name?"

"Shit—" Haru jumped, turning back in surprise, "damn it, Li! Stop sneaking up on me."

"Oh that wouldn't be fun," I told him back, handing the stallion an apple, which it appreciatively nibbled on. My hand rose to pet its silky sable hair to its curved neck, thick and strong; Rihito was a beautiful horse, a wild and virile creature, that possessed a jet black coat that held a blue luster against the light. "Hello, Rihito," my lips twisted shut before erupting into a chuckle: "pfft, Ri-Ri."

"Hey, last time we talked your name's not Ri-Ri," Haru pointed out in annoyance. "Also don't overfeed Ri—Rihito. He's already a fat cow," as if it comprehended his insult, the stallion vengefully jerked back his head by the snarls of his dark hair through its grated teeth. "Ow, Ri-Ri, stop that!"

Smiling in amusement, I did the boy a favor through separating him from the horse. "Well, it is close-sounding."

Haru huffed, disgustedly inspecting his locks; a portion of his hair was slick and sticky with saliva. "Stop being so full of yourself," before he could attempt to wipe it away with his shirt, I handed him my handkerchief. For awhile, he stared at it and then me. "Besides," he began, gradually accepting my offer with a glare, "how's your prince?"

He's not my prince.

I opened my mouth and with slight hesitation, realized dumbfoundedly: ". . . okay, I guess."

"That's new," drawled Haru in mild interest, as he cleaned off his hair. It was still a matted mess, however. "So did anything interesting happen?"

Averting my gaze away, I contemplated for an answer. "Well, we talked."

"Mhmm."

"It was fine, I think," I admitted. "Well, at best, he's tolerable. Friendlier."

"Mhmm."

"We played shogi."

"Mhmm."

My brows scrunched together. "What's that suspicious look for?"

Shrugging insouciantly, Haru raised his hands up as if to affirm his innocence. "Don't know what you mean," once my soiled handkerchief was returned only then did a mischievous glimmer shone from the corner of his eye and he had the gall to say back: "Well, if he starts kissing you, I don't want to hear a word."

"Haru, that is the single most disturbing accusation you have said to me this whole evening," I deadpanned, smoothing my face into a flat unflattering expression. I wouldn't let myself overreact. "I might just consider hitting your face for that."

Haru snorted at that. "As if I'd let you try, long face," he retorted, looking down at me from his height. "Anyways, you don't know. Who knows, maybe you're still being set-up for enge—engagement or something. You keep seeing him, right? Don't even get me started how the both of you just sneaked off that one time, Li. Besides that, I don't hear you complainin' that much about seeing other noble boys anymore," and then a slow telling smirk pulled up his lips, the gap between his front teeth ever prominent, "so that kissing part isn't that unlikely to happen at all."

Of course, I was offended. Of course, I still did what a retaliating brat would do; I kicked his shin.

And while the boy cried out in pain, Ri-Ri the horse might have just laughed.

Stomping away from the stables, Haru grudgingly avoided me after my attempt to console him out of it. Perhaps, there was also the issue that I didn't bother apologizing, not that he deserved it. "Well, I don't miss you anymore, Li," Haru grouched out. "You can go away now."

Following him in his fast stride, I grinned from ear to ear. "Aww, but you missed me anyway," I said cheekily. My attention then drifted from his indignant face to the pouch stringed on his belt; there was a hefty clattering of coins inside. "Besides where did you earn that?"

His black eyes averted away from my suspecting ones. "I have another job."

"Since when did you need another job?"

Haru clicked his tongue. "I've been doing some things," he blundered out before he unwittingly blinked at his vague choice of words, mumbling afterwards: "uh, it's complicated."

My brow curved in response. I would have argued that he should have spent his time practicing his reading and writing while I was gone. However he'd never been one to hold his tongue—let alone, guard what appeared to be a secret. Had it been so important to keep it, even from me? "Tell me," I persisted on.

Still uncertain, the boy was about to confide to me.

"Lili."

My eyes pulsed wide. A chill settled at the pit my gut.

There we stood, nearly frozen.

"Father."

Coming across us from his stroll, Father glanced at me and then the boy. His tone grew stiff. "Who is this?"

While Haru acted out through a humble respectful bow, I started, nearly fumbling over my words, "This is," I weighed on my options, my tongue thick and curled on the roof of my mouth. It was so simple to lie, to evade the question with cold dismissal, however it felt almost treasonous to turn my back against them with insincerity—and hadn't I always, for the hypocrite that I am? "His name is Haru. He is a stable boy," swallowing the cold lump on my throat, I confessed, "and he is my friend."

Something rippled from his calm face, beneath the hat from his brow. "You, boy," Father called him, making me cringe at his coroneted stoic tone. "Are you truly my daughter's friend?"

Forcing himself to stand rim-rod straight, Haru faced him headlong, bare of all subtleties, as he always did in an honest fight. His fists clenched, quaking. "Yes, my lord."

Father's lack of response hurt.

"Lili," he began, "might I have a word?"

I nodded obediently. After assuring the boy with a comforting smile, Father and I left and distanced ourselves from the bridge.

With the solemn manner he stood, Father abstractedly reminded me of a slender heron; pale and withdrawn in its stillness. There was patience and anticipation too, I realized, when his neck craned and his white fluttering sleeves swayed from the motion of his wrists.

Father then glanced at me next to the weeping willow; long finely bristled tresses of ivory green moving like a pendulum from the cool breeze, occasionally dipping its leaves on the shallow pond. A lucent ring spread wide on the surface of water, rippling our reflections under the bridge. My fingers familiarly trailed over the carmine wood as I always had, whenever he brought me here to admire the koi, the willow, the water lilies, and the small frogs that swam beneath.

From the dusky coloring of the sky, his flaxen hair hadn't been that of gold, but it dulled in gray, streaked silver with age. I thought it suited him, regardless. "Does your mother know about this?"

I pursed my lips. "No."

"Tell me, truthfully," this time, his voice was gentle, soft as clear water, "is this why you've been hiding from your nursemaids?"

Hesitantly, I bobbed my head. "Yes," it hadn't been the only reason however I didn't have the heart to confess my frustrations when servants hounded after me at my beck and call. "I didn't want anyone to know about it." That was true as well, though.

Father crouched down to my level, his crystalline blue eyes meeting mine. I held a breath, bracing myself for his disapproval.

A frown formed on his mouth. In the stead of a rebuke, Father voiced out his disappointment: "And you didn't tell me, my dear?"

My heart stuttered from my chest. "I didn't think you would like him."

His head tilted to the side. "Has he been good to you then?"

"Yes," I nodded, my eyes as bright as my mother's. "Always."

"Then it can't be helped."

A reluctant sigh rolled off his lips.

"Lili, if your mother asks where you are, tell her you've been spending time with me in my study," Father instructed, a thumb cupping his chin. Although I could tell there was some whit of disinclination on his decision, he then imparted to me: "I expect no troublemaking from you both, yes?"

My eyes widened in disbelief. "You . . . really?"

"Yes, my dear," Father fondly patted the top of my head. "Off you go. I appear to might have frightened your friend."

Spurned by a tide of emotions, I embraced him without warning. "That's because you're always so serious, Father."

"Now, now, you know that's not true," replied Father, a little taken aback by my words.

"Of course not," I beamed at him, pecking a kiss to his cheek.

Father smiled one of his small sincere smiles.

Departing from the bridge, I searched for the boy, who I found brooding at a shadowy corner, like a glum berated child. I empathized.

Once Haru noticed me approach him, he gawked insecurely down on his feet, his hand scratching at the back of his head. His hair was still damp and tousled through his fingers. "Lili, did I do something wrong?"

My lips curved up in response. "No, actually, it's the opposite."

Stunned, Haru blinked at me. "Eh, really?"

"Yes," I assured him, nudging his arm. "You're one lucky bastard, you know that?"

We amused ourselves for a time, under the old birch tree. However the thought never escaped me, when a flicker of silver inauspiciously flashed from his heavy pouch. Silver, I mused, as a stone dragon's wide crooked grin.

Exposition corner:

Hebei Shrine: It is a miniature shrine found somewhere within the market district in Kuuto. Hebei Shrine is one of the many religious places that are left untouched and vacated; however unlike the abandoned temples and shrines in the capital, this shrine is deemed sacred by the people because it was believed to be protected by the deities themselves. Evidence to that are the stone figures that don't appear to weather over time and that not even plants grow within the shrine.

The citizens, even those who are no longer faithful devotees, insisted that the shrine should be left in peace after a rumor spread about Prince Yu-hon's intention to destroy the shrine. It was after a consultation with King Joo-nam that he grudgingly abided to the wishes of the people, which was believed to be a tactical maneuver to gain back their favor after having driven out the priests at the time.

Miniature shrines in Kouka are comparable to Japanese hokora, miniature Shinto shrines found on the precincts of a larger shrine or on a street side.

Shogi: It still is the Japanese version of western chess with slight variations. This applies to Koukan Shogi, the Game of Generals.

In a nutshell, it has similar aspects to western chess, by; winning through capturing the opposing King, capturing pieces, dropping pieces into play, some of the pieces have similar moves to its western counterparts—while some are different.

Their differences: obviously the arrangement, opposing armies aren't indicated by different colors but by orientation of the board, you can promote your pieces to gain new powers (kind of like an upgrade) with the exception of the King, and there's no Queen piece for this version.

The pieces: The King General (King) and Jade General (King). There's one King for two players, just to be clear. The different names are just there to distinguish the difference between the two, like how King General is the White King and Jade General is the Black King in the western version.

Next there are Gold General, Silver General, Dragon (Bishop), Red General (Rook), Black General (Lance), Horse (Knight), and Foot Soldier (Pawn).

I changed four of the pieces' traditional Japanese names: Laurel Horse (Knight) to Horse, Angle Mover (Bishop) to Dragon, Flying Chariot (Rook) to Red General, and Fragrant Chariot (Lance) to Black General.

I hope you bear with me for not using the western terms such as Knight, Rook, Bishop, etc. because this still is a different game. Other than that, I did it to stay consistent because it's not like there are such terms like 'knights' in the AnY world.

I do play chess, and although I haven't played Japanese Shogi (and would love to just try playing it if I have the chance), I personally think you can just go crazy with this game with the moves of each of its pieces. I mean you can promote your pieces too by upgrading their moves. Just imagine the possibilities available to you with this kind of game, just wow. Okay, I should stop nerding out now.

So, why is Shogi suddenly so significant? That's because this'll be important for our two snobs, and well, to other characters too.

Chapter Text

disaster comes
by means of the mouth

There would come a time I would call it poison. On other days, a calamity.

However when I was seven, I called it nadai.

The storm winds had caught up earlier in autumn; carrying with it, an onset of heavy rainfall that lasted for five days and five nights. In the lands of water, where rain had been most beautiful, the people were also no strangers to its sunless cloud-spotted skies and its deluges that poured down in great abundance during the eighth month. Flooding was often an issue here, which if not dealt with discernment, led to the destruction of crops and unfortified dams.

This was a season where Father was the busiest; scarce were our meetings, seldom spent in his old study. Sometimes, I would like to believe that the autumnal storms whisked my father away from me. However for every stolen interaction I chanced on, they were one to keep stored within my recollections, like some kind of special token in a secret chest, for how rare and brief they were.

"Is that so?" spoke Father in his mild-mannered tone, despite the two sleepless nights taxing on his bearings. He was a diligent man. It was what made him reserved and persevered in his years, impervious as well to my mother's attempts in coaxing him to rest properly.

Despite that, I always made sure he received his daily tea. I poured his teacup with warm white tea; delicate notes of spearmint hinted from the soft steam swirling up. "Yes. And that's how he broke his arm," I couldn't repress a smile from the memory. "I guess it is strange to be excited over such a thing."

"As you said, there is always an interesting tale about him," Father gratefully drank his tea, "a bit of a reckless fellow, however."

"He is," I nodded earnestly, "but aren't most boys reckless anyway?"

"Hm, I suppose," Father agreed. "Now, Lili. It has come to my attention that you lack friends . . . of your like," and from my bemusement, he elaborated further: "It is not for me to say who your companions must be, but it does concern me that you don't have another girl to befriend."

"Father," I started in an accusing tone. "Is this because Haru is a boy?"

His shoulders may have dropped from the question. "Must he be a boy, my dear?"

My lips quirked up. "Try as I might, he can't change into a girl."

"I am well aware," Father sipped his tea, ruminating over his cup. "However I do take slight issue in your closeness; one can never be too certain, after all. Lili, when you come to a certain age, I'm afraid you will need a chaperone by your side," in his overprotective way, he then added: "just in case."

Taken aback, I sought to reason with him. My voice raised a pitch higher. "Father, he would never."

Adamant in his decision, Father shook his head. "Haru won't remain as a boy forever, my dear," he said, "so will young Soo-won."

Although I took his words to heart, I was wise enough to not contradict him for it, despite the strong urge to defend myself from the implication of idle affections. Father was always prepared to return my words with an argument, which oft headed towards a lecture that I was loath to listen to. Resigning to a nod, I drank my tea sullenly. "I understand," I abided, "but"—a discriminating brow arched at my direction—"I am free to select my own chaperone."

"My dear girl," Father started, "Se-hun and Dae-ho are not suitable chaperons."

I inwardly cursed. "Of course, I meant a female chaperon."

"Which must be approved by your mother."

"And I shall have one when I turn seventeen."

"As early as fourteen, Lili."

I pushed my luck. "Sixteen is an appropriate age then."

"Ah, but fourteen is a very generous number, you think not?" he continued on, "children are accompanied by one as young as ten summers."

I sighed in resignation. "Very well."

It wasn't as if I were at the receiving end of the bargain, anyway. So long as I get to choose.

Bobbing his head, Father seemed pleased of my compliance. "Moreover," he began, "you haven't told your mother about him yet?"

My head cocked to the side. "You didn't tell her about him either, Father."

"One day, she will need to know eventually."

"One day," I assured him, but my voice held no promise.

"You can't always keep these matters from her," Father advised placidly. "She is still your mother."

"I know," but the very thread of the matter was delicate; something so fine, it'd be simple to snap. Although Father was the austere one between them, he was tolerant of our friendship, because I believed that he understood me in a way my mother could never; she would be difficult to convince, I was certain, especially when she had her prospects for me. That I was suited for better things, deserving of the company of important people and noble children than that of a servant boy that never turned down a fight.

Haru was simple and honest, sometimes built from his own flaws. I liked him so much for those reasons. Though to my mother, anything less that she deemed in her eyes might as well be cast out from my life. I hated the thought, and so pondered on the question: could secrets be kept forever? At first, it seemed possible, but unlikely. Mere wishful thinking.

Secrets, despite their purpose, were never meant to be buried for so long after all.

"Why, I didn't expect to see my granddaughter here."

It slipped my attention then, when the sliding door gaped open and that there was an elderly lord that loomed behind it. Grandfather Mosu was old; I say this not in the manner one aged with a deep set of lines on his bearings and a doddering stride, but of how one could simply tell how he belonged to another generation, decades older to a time where lands were war-torn and the proud Koukan blade beheld glory.

He might be as tall as Father in his prime; once with flaxen hair, now paled into white, along with long brows and a lengthy thin beard. Slit-eyed like a fox, but the sharpness of his gaze may be seen more from that of a wolf's. Prince Yu-hon had a similar glare to his eye, but his nursed a tempest, while my grandfather held something akin to ice. Ice that burned, ice from a hailstorm.

"Father, I didn't expect you to arrive early from the capital," a hand gestured to the cushioned seat next to mine. "Please, sit down."

Grandfather held a slight limp in his stride. An accident, Father claimed, when he'd been waylaid by a troop of Xingese soldiers in Mong Him Pass along the southern border. Despite this, Grandfather maintained a certain collected confidence as he approached us. "Good evening, Lili," he bobbed his head, the cap above his brow unmoved; with a high knot, it encased his scalp in fine black and purple cloth that marked his station amongst the honorable true-bone ranks in the Council.

"Good evening, Grandfather," I courtly said, taking notice on the winking jade stone on his knot's hairpin; the status of the Minister of Affairs. "I am pleased you had a safe journey here."

"You appear to be in good health," Father observed. "The Gods have been kind to you."

"May they continue so," Grandfather returned, sitting on his cushion. "I might say otherwise to you, Joon-gi,"

"I am grateful of your concern, but I am faring well. How have you been? The capital does not lack any interesting tale as of late, it would seem."

His temples scrunched at the mention. "Had it not always? It appears that there is a surplus of young men in the court nowadays. It is rather cumbersome, especially when most only share a good word about the King's intentions of offering part of our land to Sei. Had I still been the Grand Counsellor, this issue might have been prevented," and then Grandfather sighed, long and indignant. I couldn't determine whether he'd been more upset of the new officials or the peace offering to Sei. "It is a shame that our new one prefers his court men affluent and green."

"Is that so? How unfortunate," commented Father in a phlegmatic tone. Typical of him, to say the least. "Grand Counsellor Hwan seemed capable at first."

"It should have been Lord Euk-shi," Grandfather returned with a dejected shake of his head. "He was bright and promising when he'd been my Appointed at the time. He had accomplished many a thing in his recent term as well. It would have been so, if not for his scandal."

"He lost his station for it."

"I'm afraid so."

I poured them tea. The talk about the capital went on for awhile. The both of them didn't appear to be bothered by my presence in the midst of their exchange. I certainly didn't mind, really; listening throughout the tidings of the country with an attentive ear. My opinions were held, of course, of every discourse about the mismanagement of the bone-ranks, the Council, the Tribes, and the poor decisions of King Il. I was determined to follow the very last thread of their conversation, if not for Father's reluctance to speak further when it'd been about the Water Tribe.

For a heartbeat, I almost swore Father kept a quick glance at me before suggesting that it was late, and as he put it, "my daughter needs her sleep for the morrow. She still has lessons in the morning."

Grandfather understood, voicing out from his contemplation, obscurely: "educating her is necessary."

"Of course," Father only said in a stiff tone.

Once I was ushered out with a maidservant by my side, Grandfather's voice echoed behind me, "Now, Joon-gi, you know better than I that the problem cannot remain as it is. . ."

There was a time Old Guo showed us a coin trick.

Although Old Guo would insist that he used a real incantation to get a rise from the boy, I always knew that there was something more beyond the surface than just sleight of hand. There were times he had customers on his stall who had more muscle and scar than one could count; gamblers, drunkards, scrappers, idle soldiers, and even the occasional traveller who kept a knife on his belt.

Old Guo never minded the company. He would even go so far as to share a hearty laugh alongside them though there was always something about their interactions that didn't all seem like a casual talk. Just when the snakehead leered from his wrist, his hand would move in that particular manner; wrist rotating, fingers drawn, and then palm tucked within the sleeve. Despite my suspicions, his stall was a relatively normal steam bun shop. The locals still gathered here; some familiar faces of vendors and loaders coming in for a bite.

Observing a pair of hulking men from the corner of his eye, Haru whispered conspiratorially, "Wanna bet if they killed people before?"

I chewed contemplatively on my food, braised pork at the crook of my teeth, and then swallowed. I elbowed his rib. "That's not funny, Haru."

Shrugging, Haru went about sulkily munching on his meal between his hands. "It was just a thought."

The sweet bread and succulent pork belly of the steam bun couldn't spare me from the prospect that made even my stomach churn.

I downed my barley tea, along with the consternation. I cleared my throat. "Hey," I glanced back at him. "Show me where you work, all right?" I'd been pecking him about it for days. He should be worn from my incessant nagging at this point.

"So you can tell off Ma," Haru rolled his eyes before spatting back: "traitor."

"I'd never. . ." I started, taken aback. "Fine. My mouth's sealed. Happy?"

His dark eyes bore down on me.

"Swear it, Li."

I sighed, defeated.

"I swear it to your Fists of Fury," I forced out, annoyed of how childish it sounded. "There."

Haru, however, was very pleased by this, munching gleefully. "M'kay," with a mouth still full, he managed to word out toward the elder hobbling at our direction, "Whaddya wont nah, ya geeshmm?" he wiped his lips from the back of his hand, ignoring my offered handkerchief.

Old Guo didn't appear offended of the boy's lack of manners; he even grinned in the lopsided manner he always did. Something about it promised mischief, only to poke fun of the boy's temper, but there was also a knowing look to his eye, smirking as if he knew a big fat secret no one has ever heard of yet. He leaned in. "Heard you've been goin' around, stall after stall."

Swallowing, Haru didn't deny it. "And?"

Old Guo procured a silver coin behind his ear and slid it to him from the table, whispering conspiratorially, "Are my steam buns better?"

Haru smugly didn't take the bribe. "Heh, scared of runnin' out of business?"

"Maybe," Old Guo shrugged with a wry smile, making the coin disappear between his fingers. I was still mulling over how he pulled off that trick with such casual ease. His gaze then seemed trained on the crew of street performers across his stall, loud and boisterous enough to attract an amused crowd. He didn't appear to be pestered with all the jeering and raunchy humor they'd been emitting. "You know, there're some crazy rumors these days."

"Hm, what kind of rumors?" I asked, finally giving into my curiosity to what lured his attention.

"Lo and behold, it is I, Minister Wu Euk-Shi! Highest of foreheads, smallest of cocks," the masked jester then flounced out a flash of his phallic-shaped prop between his legs, causing his spectators to erupt into a roaring guffaw. He then exaggeratedly wept like a child, tossing and flouncing about with his prop. "Oh, oh, woe, is me! Where art thou greedy lovers to nurse my frail manhood!"

Old Guo continued on, "Some secret affairs, buncha dirty secrets, is all."

Dressed gaudily with feminine masks, three actors emerged, a coy fan on each hand.

"You and you and you, court wenches! Take my stolen gold for a taste of your virgin clams!"

Another burst of laughter. The drums beated their noise; the masked jester dove humorously into their flurry of skirts.

"You, young man! Take my stolen gold for a taste of your—"

"Poor fellow, that Euk-shi."

I turned back to Old Guo, withdrawing myself from that vulgar display of entertainment. The people were divided of the matter. Most loved it. Treated it like some kind of inside joke. The others, however, openly showered stones than coins over the street performers' heads.

On the other hand, Haru was indifferent of the commotion and the steam vendors next words: "The folk like their story, eh?" and then the silver coin once again materialized itself out of thin air, specifically tucked behind his tapered beard. Spinning it around with a flip, Old Guo disclosed garrulously, "Reminds me of the time when a queen friend of mine was publically shamed for sleepin' with a servant. Those were dark days for her."

The coin dropped. Haru flicked it back, which Old Guo swiped back in a nick of time. "Pshh, like you know royalty."

"Oh, yeah, we were close friends too. Told me she could speak to dragons and those snow leopards."

"As if," scoffed Haru. "Queen friend, my ass."

"Sorry," I uttered calmly, as I always had when I mumbled out excuses for him. "Tends to talk shit a lot, bad habits."

"You're the smart one," Old Guo then said to me; the snakehead slithering from his sleeve, a glint of silver tucked beneath. "You know better to tell that boy off, eh?"

I had only heard of Nancho House by name, twice; firstly and very faintly, from a string of muddled conversation from a pair, or perhaps, a group of men, rambling on about women and culture over their cups of wine. The latter, however, from the boy that guided me down the path between the residential and teahouse districts, where lay a raft of scenic architecture of inns, bathhouses, and charming bridges, veined by waterways from the river beneath. The brothels in this area were never few and far between, in number and popularity.

Within the grandiose establishment of Nancho House; offensively out of place—we stayed in a waiting area at the backend of the brothel, amidst the finery of its servants, and occasionally, a small drove of passing courtesans, who wore refined elegance from the sleeves of their robes. Powdered and painted, the courtesan's faces were marked with flowers above their brows; most women had lotuses, peonies, orchids, and roses, while the seemingly younger and fresh-faced had a blue plum blossom.

Albeit indirectly, I was enlightened of what they were and what they served in the society to a certain extent. Daughters born from poverty, shamed highborn ladies, and girl-children bartered off to pay for their families' debt—Se-hun commented once, offhandedly. I was morbidly curious then, I supposed, when I brought up the topic.

While the cost of their virtue remained questionable in their position, I was aware that courtesans were skilled in the arts. They were remarkable hostesses for ceremonies and even renowned celebrities, I reflected on my mother's words. Though some would claim they were glorified harlots, expensive mistresses, painted women on picture-scrolls; especially, when there was a saying about them: 'sold in copper for their beauty, silver for their gifts, and gold for their beds.' Yet the separate stripe, prostitutes, was a different matter altogether, it seemed.

After all, comparing the two was similar in the manner one saw a lotus from a water lily; ostensibly different, yet sharing a similar root that thrived afloat from the water. Or drowned in it, I mused in consideration.

"While I was gone," I started, "what in the world have you been doing?"

"I told you I got a job," Haru sniffed, rubbing his nose irritatingly. "Quit that staring, Li. It's just another job."

"Outside the palace," I clarified, mouthing my words with emphasis. "How did you even end up here?"

"I got looped in into something, okay? Now, quit it," Haru berated. "You're making me look bad."

The nerve of this brat. I huffed in response.

Striding at our direction, the young man was as ornate as the courtesans, painted with a bird on his forehead. Rice powder made his skin fair, so were his face, his neck, and even his collarbones, from the suggestive dip of his collar. "So you're here again," spun nonchalantly with a hairpin, his hair stirred from his shoulder because of a head tilt, stray strands like ink strokes on silk. He set his sights on me. "And this is?"

"Not important," Haru dismissed, waving a hand. "Lead the way, Yoseop."

Obliging, Yoseop gestured a one-shouldered shrug. It nagged me a little how the one side of his purple jacket drooped from his shoulder, sliding bare the fine robes beneath. A step behind him, we followed suit from the narrow halls.

From his distance, Haru observed a throng of women lead a drunken official to a red sliding door. "This isn't where we usually go."

"I'm afraid, we'll have to take a different route," spoke Yoseop, unconcerned despite his imparted words. "The one there is being repaired at the moment."

Haru's eyes lit curiously. "'Cause of a fight?"

"No," Yoseop denied him of an intriguing prospect. "Just a leakage."

Yoseop then flit his silvery gaze at me. He simpered; a wry curl of full lips, devoid of affection. "Hello," he greeted. "I'm Yoseop, Miss . . . ?"

Bobbing my head, I went with being terse. "Lin."

"You know, Miss Lin," Yoseop began in mild interest. "I'm quite surprised he actually has a friend."

"That's understandable," I humored him, mulling over how he was acquainted to the boy. "Did he cause someone trouble? He does that a lot."

"Why, no, not so far."

"Oh," a slow telling smile crept up my lips. "Well, that is surprising."

"I can hear the both of you," grunted an annoyed Haru, making me amusedly flit back my gaze at him. "It's a bit noisy here today."

"There are plenty of customers as of late."

"It's barely midday," Haru complained half in disbelief, half in disgust. "Someone's already fucking?"

"The business is flourishing this time around," Yoseop reasoned in a soft serene voice, his wrist rose to conceal half of his face with a flowery sleeve; however there were shadows in his eyes. "Some just can't resist."

The room was heavily draped and decked with Kai-inspired furnishings; opium chairs, thick lacquered coatings, and elaborately decorative woodwork. Lungs filled with sweet-scented incense, we were led to one of the rosewood couches. There was a hospitable offering of dried wild berries on a porcelain bowl from the table before us.

Appearing behind a curtained door, the Madam was a vision of vicious beauty; tall and slender, her figure was clad in a flaming scarlet gown—of expensive glossed silk, I supposed, that must have been gifted to her by a nobleman—which contrasted the pearl-white skin of her ample cleavage and arms, cloaked in a patterned over robe and a sheer gold-lined shawl that hung loosely from the crook of her elbows.

The Madam reclined on her lavish couch; the woodwork of its backrest resembled a gilded cage of a sort, where intricate inlays of nightingales and peonies tangle between twine and twisted branches. "Hm, why if it isn't the rowdy boy," her painted lips then curled charmingly at me, "and friend."

Taking note of my presence, she then proceeded to her introduction: "Ah, my manners. I am Moon Jeheon, Madam of the Nancho House."

A red strand of hair brushed her shoulder. Madam Moon had such unique hair. Her locks possessed a deep shade of plum red, coiled and braided in an elaborate manner that interwove her natural hair with her false one. It made me ponder how difficult it must have been to scour tooth and nail in finding the color of her wig. A rare red, I mused, thinking back of the rumors surrounding Princess Yona's famed hair. To the paintings of King Hiryuu and his glorious crimson mane.

The coiffure of her hair was ostentatious in appearance; emblazoned in semiprecious stones, satin ribbons, and hairpins, the top portion was wrought into a tall bun with twin tresses curved at the side of her brows and pinned behind her ears. The lower half of the style left the hair untouched, leaving a train of long luscious locks spilling on her back.

However her ashen eyes looked terribly familiar.

"It is a pleasure to meet you."

Out of deference, I acknowledged her with a nod. "Likewise, Madam Moon," I replied. "I'm Cho Lin."

"Haru, you didn't tell me you'd bring such a comely face in my establishment," spoke Madam Moon in mild curiosity. "Are you in need of a job too, pretty?"

"Hey, back off, lady. She's off limits," Haru interjected with his arms crossed.

"Idiot boy. I don't mean to offer one of the more risqué jobs here," Madam Moon corrected, and then her cheek rested elegantly on her ringed fingers, uttering aloud: "well, I am in search of an apprentice."

"Off. Limits." Haru emphasized next to me, blowing out an indignant sigh on my behalf. He shot her a glare. "Anyway, I already did what you told me," his words were grudgingly vague and simple, but the slight clench in his teeth meant something else.

Madam Moon, however, had a face as smooth and unaffected as a clean sheet of silk paper. Nothing mottled her expression, especially her red smile.

"So you are capable," she chortled, almost mockingly, as she motioned for a waitress to serve them a receptive meal on her table. There was a platter of mussels and snails, cooked in wine and plated delicately for plucking, Xingese mandarin cakes, thinly sliced figs and dates, a bowl of lychee, candied fruit, rose wine, and red tea that smelt so dizzyingly sweet one could ponder whether it'd been from a fruit or a flower. "Please, I insist," she motioned to her offering, which only further vexed Haru.

As to appear polite, I helped myself over a picking of snail. It tasted marvelous. Despite Haru's hard glances back at me and on the table, I still helped myself over the fresh fruit and the mandarin cake, flaking from my chin. About to take in a cup of their red tea, the boy snatched it from my grasp and gestured at me with a small shake of his head. Don't.

"Interestingly, little Cho Lin seems to appreciate my spread, unlike you," the Madam had only eaten her share of mussels and snails. "I've hired cooks from Kai to make these special dishes. Only those of high status are able to dine on such, you know."

"I don't like snail," Haru retorted. "I want my answers, not your noble food."

Madam Moon drank from her cup, the wine the color of crimson summer. "Then, ask."

"Where is he?"

Her ashen eyes flitted up to him, and then me. Her long fingers toyed the ends of her shawl. "From what I have gathered, he is in Nairiso."

"What is he doing in Nairiso?" the boy then bolted up from his seat, eyes wide from the revelation. "Was he . . . was he drafted there, is that it?"

"Perhaps, he was. Perhaps, he wasn't," was Madam Moon's reply, lowering her dark spidery lashes. "But he lives there. Still very much like himself," her hand rose thoughtfully, veiling her mouth with the sleeve of her over robe, "not as sober, however."

Though Haru wasn't content with her answer. "And, what else?"

"That is all I could give," Madam Moon took a delicate sip of her wine. "You know the rest."

And so we departed; I oblivious still and the boy left with a stab of indignation. Whatever the matron of Nacho House imparted to him got under his skin, when he had willingly stomped his way out of the establishment.

Trotting behind him, I attempted to tug his sleeve but could only wring the ends of his shirt. I was almost tempted pulling his hair too, with the manner he disregarded me. "Haru, hey, slow down," I told him. "Why are you even—"

"Why's this, why's that! Always with the damn whys," Haru barked out. "I already brought you to my other job, Li. Stop it already."

His arms flailed wildly to his sides, and there, I couldn't help but think how I should catch him before he finds himself steeped further down in that sweeping fury. Haru did stupid things when he was angry, whether he seized the chance to hurt someone or himself. What mattered was that he let it out, even if it meant erupting in a blaze of mindless rage.

However, this time, it appeared as if he'd still been repressing something, nursing it deep within himself and struggling to lock it in because it was keen on bursting out of his chest.

I wouldn't allow it, and so approached him without all the questioning stares and admonishments. "Then let me in on this whole thing you're in," I said, and very carefully added: "you can trust me, Haru. You know that."

Briefly, our eyes locked. I was prepared to confront a petulant glare and a scowl, but I was met with a fleeting glance; part of it was incensed but willing to listen, while the other was ruefully guarded, uncharacteristically so. Rubbing his neck, Haru mustered out, "I know."

Bobbing my head, I guided him to a nearby bench. We both sat quietly.

I initiated first. "Who were you trying to find?"

Haru swallowed a breath. "Just," and then he held his tongue, as if it'd been stuck, fenced within gritted teeth, "just someone . . . important."

It didn't deter me from asking my next question. "And Madam Moon knows who this is?"

"Yeah. She gave me a lead, sort of," admitted Haru, knitting his brows together. "Still can't trust her, though."

"And you work for her," I reminded dryly.

"It's just a one-time thing!" Haru defended, fuming at me. "Besides, I can't stand her and that place. You know why? 'Cause she's a damn fake, Li."

"But how do you know if she's telling the truth, about where he is?"

"Because we made a deal," his hand balled into a fist. "She got what she wanted."

After that, the boy spoke no further about it.

In Suiko Palace, we parted. Drifted, really, mumbling out half-hearted goodbyes. His secrets haunted him like the shadows under his feet.

I wandered deep with the gardens, to a curving path I hoped that veered me somewhere else instead of a well and the wilting moon wisteria; shedding pale blues and violets, their twisting skeletal arms were laid bare, and under one of them, on a spine-like trunk was another stone moss-ridden dragon; its jowls were crooked and it was missing two claws. Perhaps, I anticipated for something, like the company of a passing raven, or a friend.

Then the footfalls came, snapping twigs and dry leaves beneath. Here, I expected again, of a deadpan stare from green eyes and an unspoken chide. However it didn't occur to me that Se-hun could best Dae-ho in searching for me first.

Se-hun offered a half-smile, scrutinizing my surroundings. "This is quite a depressing place."

I cocked my head to the side, eyes darting next to him. "Dae-ho is not with you."

"He left, my lady," Se-hun informed me. "He is visiting his relatives."

To Nairiso. "I see," I said. "I wish he told me about it."

Evening shadows loomed; stretched across the field, shrouding us in its dark veil. Then a crackle of thunder. "It was quite urgent from what I reckon," Se-hun recalled, tightlipped. "Come now, my lady, before it rains."

Chan-mi was young, too young, to bear the burdens of calloused hands, drudgery, and child-rearing onto her shoulders. There was a time she'd been a girl, whimsy and wishful and free, but the lines that grooved beneath her eyes told of what was lost—or as Haru commented, too tired and busy to dream. This time, with a respectful dip and a humble voice, she approached me wearily. "Lady Lili, have you seen Haru?"

I didn't expect encountering her in the stables. "I haven't seen him this morning."

Her brows furrowed. "Do you think he is outside again, my lady?"

Perhaps. Haru's been avoiding me for two days. But I confronted her, replying: "I'm not sure."

Her concern dented itself deep onto her bearings, however I did note from retrospect that Chan-mi also wore her patent worrying with a face of ire and grievance. It was an aspect that Haru shared with his mother, alongside their volatile tempers. "Really, that boy," She sighed under her breath. "Goes off on his own without telling a word," and offhandedly, muttering: "like his father."

"His father," I brought up, crumbling away her vexation with that of surprise. "He doesn't live here, does he?"

"No, my lady," her words were spoken in a placid-mannered tone, though to my ears, they left her lips in a quiet hiss. "He never did."

"His mother died."

"Is Dae-ho . . . is he doing well?"

"I'm afraid," Se-hun said, his head hanging low. "I don't know."

"Se-hun," I took a step forward, waiting and waiting, "when will he come back?"

However even the answer turned to ashes in his mouth.

"I don't know."

The days lagged on, slowly. I didn't see Haru as often, his mouth sealed in solemn resolution.

He couldn't even hold a solid glance at me. "Not now, Li. Another time."

Another time, I clutched onto the promise, molded it into a hopeful star upon my lips, until the words aged with time and the lie burnt itself black on my tongue. Because that boy had always been a terrible liar—I knew it and he knew it too, in his regret.

 Perhaps, it was my impatience that made me storm to my father's study.

"Father, it's been weeks," I cried out, nearly losing all my composure. "I'm concerned about him. He isn't responding to my letters."

"He lost a dear person, Lili. Give him time," Father continued to write stoically. "A man needs to grieve."

But. My lips thinned into a taut line, remembering Se-hun's hesitant words like coarse sand chafed against my knees.

"I heard rumors of a drunkard, while some claim the man was cursed rabid and hysterical, as if he were possessed . . ."

"How about the man responsible for his mother's death, shouldn't that person be—"

"That is a different matter," Father's tone cut, bone-deep. "You shouldn't concern yourself over such things."

I waited for him in the stables that night. Even Rihito didn't appreciate the boy's absence.

The horse neighed. I drew in a breath.

"I know, Ri-Ri. Maybe, he'll talk tomorrow."

Even in my dreams, there was no such thing as respite.

There was a great storm. It made even the ocean such a wrathful god from all the wild stirrings from the skies, the strong gust swirling in the air like a stream of serpents. Then surged the crash of waves, tall and powerful as mountains, and the clash and collapse of the currents, overlapping and overcoming, as the violent waters threatened to consume me whole. From the clap of thunder above, the chasm that clutched underneath, the salt in my tongue, and the prayers in my breaths; the ancient seas raged and roiled still, against the heavens, against the earth, against the winds, against the fires.

Yet in this rain and hail, on this high stone I clung onto from the grit of my nails, I reached and reached desperately for that hand in the midst of it all. It was close, then it was far, so far, so distant from the shores, from this stubborn rock, as that hand drifted and dragged and drowned into those dark depths.

Here I was, for so long, unable to even grasp that hand.

The world sunk, despite it all.

"You look troubled for some time now," said Mother, padding towards me near the windowsill. "Look, sweetling. I bought you a new hairpin," she handed the ornament to me, complimenting: "the pearls are from the waters of Isoei Isle."

I inspected it between my palms. The hairpin wasn't garish. Simple as it was, the milky-blue lacquer of each plum blossom was rare; wrought over with silver and saltwater pearls that my mother loved to thread in her hair. Another token of affection, another trinket to store in my chest. My fingers curled on a petal from the tail-end of the ornament, pearls winking in cream and pale gold. I affected a smile. "This is very lovely."

"It is, isn't it?" Mother beamed, as if she had done it for my sake, and gestured to my hair: "may I?"

I nodded complacently.

Her hands wove through my locks; they were gently tugged and smoothened by the fine teeth of a jade comb. "Would you like to visit Lady Yong-hi with me?" Mother proposed as she started to twist a portion of my hair. "Soo-won must have missed you," she then added, after having spotted the untouched letter on my table, "he even wrote to you."

And it was unanticipated, Soo-won's letter—and all the inked amity that must have been poured into it. I reflected then, of what could have waited for me in Jinsei; the roads slick with mud, and hanging above its slopes of mountains, and fertile plains, and high roofs were the pre-winter rains. The air would be cold, the grass dewed, and a thick fog would settle over a tall hill, silhouetting the pale castle on top of it. The Lady would have anticipated for our arrival, smiling her bright smiles, reciting poem verses in foreign. That boy would have been there. Perhaps hesitant, perhaps thrilled, when he invites me to a game of shogi and a cup of tea. I would see his eyes again, eyes like the seas, like the skies, crystalline and brilliant and full of youth.

However I would also see a pair in jade green and charcoal, bleeding into one, reminding—and how it stung to be reminded, to remain tethered over the sentiment and the unvoiced dread that came with it. "I," my breath caught in my throat. "I don't want to leave."

Sliding in the hairpin, Mother told me in earnest, "You are unhappy here," she looked at me, and there was something consoling in her blue eyes, as if she understood all the weight I carried in my chest. A mother's stare, I knew. I ached. "In Jinsei, you seem livelier," she said in a tender voice, "and you have a friend there."

But she didn't understand, after all.

"I-it's not that," I began reluctantly. "I—"

I've always had a friend here.

Holding back, I breathed in and spoke, "I'm fine, Mother," the words were driven out of my mouth, and perhaps, it was rather insensitive of me to admit, how lying had always been a viable option when it came to my mother. "I . . . don't want to leave."

"All right."

With a heavy sigh, Mother tried to smile. She always did, for my sake. "However it saddens me when you always wear that look," her fingers pushed back a stray strand behind my ear. As she pulled me into a sudden embrace, she tried to reach out for me and I let her. I wish I could have tried harder. "I'm always here, Lili," she cooed to my ear, keeping me close. "You can tell me anything."

Yet I couldn't.

"You must be curious now," the head matron of the Nancho House remarked. Yoseop stood behind her, as if to remain as a witness in our secret meeting. "It's in your eyes, pretty. He's kept some things from you, apparently," and then, in a persuasive voice: "would you like to know?"

Seeking confirmation, I drawled out, "Is there. . ."

"A price," finished Madam Moon, her eyes glowing from the lamplight as with flickers of ember amidst ash. "Everything always has a price, little Cho Lin," upon imparting that piece of advice, my hand readily tossed a purse at her table. It hadn't been necessary to inspect its contents when there was a heavy brattle from its collision on the wood. Even the purse alone was worth more than ten silver pieces. It was a small expenditure to the An Clan's fortune after all. The Madam, however, simply clarified in the mildest of tones: "but there's no need for such."

I raised a brow at her direction. "Do you require some other payment then?"

Madam Moon smiled. It was one full of veiled meaning. "As of now, I'll be considerate. I am not always such a heartless woman, you know," she said this with a hand poised on her chest. "Besides, I find myself quite fond of you. Come back again here, if you are able. That is what I only ask."

I would have questioned her intentions though I pushed the thought aside. "All right," I complied, hoping I could remain as collected in our confrontation.

"Very well," Madam Moon delighted at my answer. For a time, she then sighed, musing to herself. "There is nothing truly interesting about the tale, to be honest. Ama was a mere patron here, even when he used to be a soldier," she went on, "and he, too, is that boy's father."

 Maybe one day, I'd let myself believe I was flying.

Fluttering out the blue wings of my sleeves, swooping down frost-coated streets with artless grace—and falling in a nosedive, stumbling from my cumbersome dress, but I lifted myself from the ground, heaved a breath, pushed the weight off my chest. My legs sprung on a full sprint. I soared.

The snow fell earlier this year. It flaked atop my hair and crunched beneath my shoes. It burned, too. Burned against the skin of my palms and cheeks; nothing like the hot sting I felt beneath my rushing feet. It was a biting cold and it singed against flesh, after running frantically in search; the cold seeping through my clothes, whipping at them with lashing winds.

Everything at the moment felt vaguely nostalgic; small footprints, fallen snow, and chasing—wild reckless chasing, a game of tag and hurtling misshapen snowballs. Only that it wasn't, and that I wasn't going after that boy because he wanted me to hightail after him all the way to the borders of the city. I panted, tamping in a coughing fit. I was close. My eyes shone from the distant image of Suiko's massive gates, painted and glossed over with ice. Carriages lined themselves near stalls. Carters and travelers bundled up for winter and packed themselves for their journey.

And then finally, I found him.

For a heartbeat, I felt relief. However, a dark tremor sown itself within me, its vicious roots gnarling over my chest, squeezing it, at the sight of him; unaware, his back turned, with only but a bag to accompany him. For that, I really hated him as well, and while I could have careened towards him, blasting out a plethora of harmless hits and curses and chides, my hand bent down and aimed a snowball at him. It landed on his head, satisfyingly so.

Haru took it unpleasantly, swerving back with a riled fist. That was until he saw me, and that the very edges of his wrath melted off him, softened the sharp glare of his eyes to lead and something in-between disappointment and buried guilt. After sending a quick word to a carriage driver, he strode up to me. Before I knew it, I was being dragged to a private corner, away from the carriage. A jacket was hurled and wrapped sloppily all over my shivering form.

"What're you doing here, Li?" Haru demanded, clicking his tongue. "Damn, of all the days. . . you're not even trying to hide who you are," he motioned at my regal attire, lacking a dull disguise. I would have argued it wouldn't matter, since no one recognized me and I would have simply passed off as another highborn child.

"I came here for you, you jerk," I replied, low and livid. "You were going to run away!"

Equally enraged, Haru cut in. "I wasn't. Who even told you I was—that's not the point, you're not supposed to be here!"

My voice found its strength in the bottled anger I never realized I had the chance to unleash. Taking a step forward, I pointed at him. "You too! You're not supposed to be out here, thinking you can just run off somewhere at this time! What would your mother think?"

"I don't care what she thinks!" Haru hollered out before he registered my words. His hands planted themselves on my arms. "Ma's just going to. . . shit, Li. Did you tell her? Did you?"

"For your sake, no," I told him, unwavering. "Because you're coming back with me."

His face hardened, eyes stubborn. "I'm not, Li. I mean it," Haru said sternly, about to walk away from me. "Go home. I don't expect you to understand anyway."

"That's because you're not talking to me!"

"Well, it's not like this is your conce—"

"Don't dare say it, Haru," I shook there, irrepressibly; something was boiling, breaking, in me, like a weatherworn dam, and the currents only pushed and pushed through. It felt like drowning all over again, my throat choking for air. "It's," my voice cracked, certain for a fraction, "it's my concern too."

Until I crashed down, and all the calm confidence in me seeped out from its fissures. My sight blurred and the salt burned from my lashes; it was really difficult to blink, to breathe properly, when there's all this rain and rapture building up inside. I was so tired of it, being shoved away, disregarded, and kept far from the problem to protect me—to protect themselves, or whatever wretched truth they were hiding.

"Hey," I hated it, how this boy could wear that crushed look in his eyes. He seemed to fumble, too, because he was failing and trying all the same. Maybe hoping, he could reach just enough. Firm hands on my shoulders, he closed our distance, consoling me out of it. "Li, don't make me go through this . . . don't cry. I'm sorry, okay?" and he meant it, almost chipping away himself: "I'm really sorry."

I was harshly rubbing my eyes. They still burned. "I'm not crying," I denied, and it was a pathetic attempt. Everything still convulsed and it was a little hard to think straight from the tightness of my throat, lips pulled taut because of the trembling. "It's just cold," I sniffed, "but you don't have to go too, you know."

"But I have to," Haru said, backing his words with conviction. "I need to, Li."

"Dae-ho also went to where you're going," I explained, reliving the spent days in his absence. The warning in Pyong-ho's words about Nairiso plagued me then. "He didn't come back. Father hadn't done anything about it. I can't—it's just that . . . it's not safe for you," I admitted, wavering, "what if you. . ."

Sighing under his breath, Haru looked at me in assurance. "You're not going to lose me," his mouth lifted a little; the tilt wasn't as cocky as it should, but it tried, anyway. "I'll kick ass."

Really, this kid. I would have chuckled, but opted to simper instead. "I'm only saying you don't have to risk so much."

"Yeah," Haru nodded, understanding. "But I guess I'm just dumb like that."

"You're not dumb," I corrected him. "He must be really important."

"Yeah, he is," his gaze then longingly stared ahead to an immeasurable distance, to a specter maybe.

"But what if," I interjected, "it's not what you expected it to be?"

"Then," Haru sucked in a cold breath. "I guess I'll know."

I pursed my lips together. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

Bobbing his head, Haru quirked the corners of his mouth up. "Li, you. . ." until his dark eyes pulsed wide, staring in panic behind me. "Li!"

A stranger's hand on my collar. An interval of struggle, a cloth gagged on my mouth, a throbbing pain from my skull.

And then everything was dark and everything was sunken.

Exposition corner:

The Council: also known as the Purple Council, it is the highest governmental organ, comprising of the Grand Counsellor (highest bone-rank; chief adviser to the King) and the four Ministers; Affairs, Treasury, War (Sky General), and Courts. They advise and discuss Kouka's matters of policy and their areas of expertise to the King. This differs greatly from the Council of Tribes, which consists of the five Tribe Generals (provincial governors) that discuss about territory and the external affairs of the country; while the Council of Tribes is slightly higher than the Purple Council, the latter is usually the one that internally oversees Kouka.

I'll try my best not making this too complicated because I really had to take notes for this one and correct myself from my previous PGC classes. Basically, everything's a bastardization and mixture of a Heian court rank system and bureaucracy, as well as Korean Silla's bone-rank system. Well, with major alterations, but you get the picture.

(Just an overview for now; will be discussed in detail in future chapters.)

Courtesans and Prostitutes:

Koukan Courtesans is more comparable to Korean kisaeng and a bit of Japanese oiran. They are educated and trained in the art of performance; those mainly being dancing, singing, playing an instrument, tea ceremony, poem-reciting, and hosting. All courtesans are literate, some are even excellent in poetry writing – Kaisho poetry, in particular. Politicians, scholars, poets, and even philosophers are said to visit their brothels to share their company, mostly for their intellect than entertainment.

As we all know it, courtesans do wear wigs in order to flaunt their beauty and enhance their appearance. Hair is a big thing in Kouka; so the thicker and healthier the hair, the more beautiful you are. Wigs help with that. Why it isn't a common thing with nobility as a fashionable trend is because they desire kempt natural hair and are very prudish when it comes to purity and propriety. There's a reason why it's highly raved in the aristocracy to wear sterling metals and jewels in their hair, aside from showing off status, and that's because those materials (gold, silver, jade, etc.) are considered pure (Of course, it wasn't, but people in this time period didn't know any better).

So when it comes to a courtesan's hairstyle, it comes off semi-elaborate. Top half of the hair is styled ostentatiously while the lower half is left unbound. The reason behind that is because a courtesan is a fully-fledged woman but unmarried, while committing sexual acts. The unbound hair loosely signifies a fallen woman, though not necessarily because courtesans are redeemable due to their education and skills in the arts.

The markings on their foreheads signify status in their establishment. The status of a courtesan is loosely based from how the ranking worked in an Edo-Yoshiwara brothel. There are two top tier ranks: the Lotus Mistress and the Peony Mistress. They wear the flowers they are named after on their foreheads, painted in red or gold. The former is the highest ranked courtesan while the latter is the second-highest ranked one. These two should be comparable to desirable celebrities.

The lower ranks are as follows: the Rose Mistress, the Orchid Mistress, and the Plum Blossom Mistress. Like the top tier ranks, they wear the flowers they are named after. The Rose Mistress and the Orchid Mistress's markings are painted in pink or purple. They are less popular and often deal with the more risqué jobs.

On the other hand, the Plum Blossom Mistress is a courtesan who is about to make her debut, aged in the years fourteen to twenty. One may refer to her as an 'apprentice courtesan' and is often sought after by male patrons, bid for having to share one night in her bed. The pay is high due to the Plum Blossom Mistress being a virgin. Her markings are painted in soft blue. Outgrowing her status, she either exceeds in the top tier ranks or fall on the one of the lower ranks.

When it comes to other employees within the brothel such as dancers, waitresses, and bathhouse workers (popularly called as Water lilies), some do partake in illegal prostitution. However this highly depends on the establishment. There are cases that employees don't engage in sexual acts. Male prostitutes also exist for certain preferences, though they serve their roles more as prostitutes than entertainers. They paint a bird marking on their forehead in green.

Apologies for the long info dump. It's just that there's going to be a time where we're going to handle the complicated dealings of prostitution in future chapters and that at least you have a chapter to go back to when you need some info about it.

(Yeah, and I'm so not sorry about the dark implications and transition we are heading with this. . .)