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Whack! Whack!

“Little Auntie…”

Whack! WHACK WHACK WHACK!

Jin Ling winces. “Little Auntie, the chicken…”

“Damn the chicken!” roars Jiang Cheng. She jabs her cleaver at Wei Ying, trying and failing to fade into the palace walls. “You! I cannot believe you!”

Wei Ying shrugs sheepishly, hands tucked in her white physician’s jacket. “Aiya, Jiang Cheng, I said I was sorry didn’t I?”

“Six months! You’ve been back for six months!” She lays into the much abused chicken with renewed fervor. “I suppose none of us were worth a visit, or even a letter, to say that you were alive!” Her voice cracks.

Pained but unrepentant, Wei Ying says, “It wasn’t like that.”

Over the rhythmic thud of her knife: “Oh? Then what was it like?”

“I just— Look.” Wei Ying sighs. “I’m here now, aren’t I? And lay off that poor chicken will you? I can’t bear to watch you destroy it like that!”

Jiang Cheng slams her knife down into the board. “So now you want to police my cooking? Wei Ying, you–!“

“Madam? Court Lady Lan!”

“Someone help!”

Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying exchange glances and despite the years of separation, run out as one.

Jin Ling beats them both to the scene, half vaulting over the doorstep in a flurry of skirts. “What happened?” she demands. “Sizhui?”

Wei Ying sees: a jacket of emerald silk, navy bulky skirt pooled across the ground.

“— don’t know what’s wrong,” a round-faced girl is saying. One of Jin Ling’s fellow apprentice cooks, from the look of her teal uniform and white apron. “She just collapsed!”

“Madam, are you alright? Madam!” wails a second, increasingly panicked girl. “You can’t go like this! If you go, I’ll lose all the skin on my calves to Lady Su!”

The woman braced between them waves her off. Her headpiece, a thick crown of braids, denotes her status as head court lady of the palace kitchen. Wei Ying feels sick. “Jingyi,” rasps the woman.

“Madam!?”

“Calm down.”

The loud girl — Jingyi — deflates. “Yes Madam.”

“Sizhui, Jin Ling,” the woman says.

The other two girls snap to attention. “Yes?”

“Help me up.”

Between the two of them, they manage to get her on her feet. She lifts her face. Her astonishingly light-colored eyes meet Wei Ying’s like a needle sliding home. She is so beautiful it hurts.

Wei Ying swallows. “Lan Zhan,” she says weakly. “Hi.”

*

Even when they were kids, trainee maids in the palace, Wei Ying had already known that Lan Zhan would be the best of them. Not because of her family — although that had certainly helped, what with the training to cook since she could walk — but because of who she was.

She had been enthralled at first sight: the prettiest girl Wei Ying had ever seen, and not a single expression on that flawless face. Of course, she came to realize that Lan Zhan was as expressive as they came, if you knew what to look for — or how to provoke her.

Wei Ying got very good at provoking her.

It had driven her crazy at first, Lan Zhan’s strict adherence to rules and tradition. Wei Ying didn’t see the point. If tradition had had its way, the worthless daughter of two criminal parents would never have learned to read, or made it into the palace, or lived at all.

So when Lan Zhan executed the proper bows and protocols stringently, Wei Ying had snorted, Fuddy-duddy. When Lan Zhan insisted on the exact order and method of assembling a dish, Wei Ying had scoffed, Traditionalist. When Lan Zhan had stared, horrified and aghast at the way Wei Ying had thrown herself at Brother Jiang on his rare deliveries to the palace, Wei Ying had cried, Prude!

Boring, Lan Zhan had shot right back, whenever Wei Ying popped up babbling about putting charcoal into different sauces or testing the burn time for different woods or whatever heretical idea she wanted to posit to Old Lady Lan that day.

But Lan Zhan had still paid attention. When one of the younger princesses stopped eating, it was Lan Zhan that persuaded her to eat again by putting charcoal into her porridge to absorb odors. Wei Ying’s idea, she had said simply, when the senior court ladies had tried to commend her for it.

And she practiced, a lot. Watched the older girls working in the kitchen and tried out each different twist of their hands on her own, staring down at her food with the same intensity that drove Wei Ying to ask, Why? Why?

There was also just the fact that Lan Zhan was good. Good, and kind, and unflinchingly moral. Corruption flowed through the palace like poison in a sick man’s veins, but through all their years together, Lan Zhan had stayed as pure as mountain snow.

When the palace stores had flooded one spring, they had been ordered to allocate all the spoiled food to the water maids and the other lower slaves, an order that had left Old Lady Lan pale and tight-lipped with fury. Lan Zhan had not only refused, but taken food directly from the undamaged stores to feed them.

She had been beaten, badly, for that. How dare you, one of the senior palace ladies had berated her. Such food is meant for the king, not a lowly servant. And Lan Zhan had said nothing, only looked up, eyes blazing with an expression that said exactly what she thought of a king and a servant’s worth.

That whole episode could have ended so much worse if Wei Ying hadn’t burst in at the last moment, having “located” the missing food with the help of Zixuan, Brother Jiang, and Brother Sang.

It had scared her so bad, the way that Lan Zhan was willing to break just so that she wouldn’t have to bend. And then, somehow, it became reassuring, the way that the world somehow always managed to realign so that Lan Zhan would never, ever, break.

So yeah. Maybe Wei Ying had been a little bit obsessed with her. But who wouldn’t be? The elegant lines of her body, the fire flashing behind her eyes, the fond tilt of her mouth right before she brought out some rare plant or book she had found. She can still hear Lan Zhan’s voice, quiet and firm, saying, I will help you.

When the king fell ill and she and Wen Qing had been taken into custody, Wei Ying had thought, Lan Zhan will help. She’ll believe me. If I can just see her, everything will be alright.

It wasn’t that she had expected Lan Zhan to pick her over her family, what with Wei Ying never being totally sure if Lan Zhan actually liked her or not, and with Lan Huan, newly promoted and newly pregnant, in jeopardy for having proposed Wen Qing’s treatment to the king. But Wei Ying had thought that Lan Zhan would at least try. That she would at least come to say goodbye.

Except Lan Zhan had never come. And it was Wei Ying’s relentless, unflinching faith that had broken after all.

*

Wei Ying digs her fingers harder into the arch of Jingyi’s foot.

The girl shrieks, causing everyone in the room to jump. Jin Ling, who had been sulking in the corner, startles so badly she almost spills her box of snacks.

Jingyi glares at her. “Aren’t you supposed to make it hurt less?”

“This is how I make it hurt less,” Wei Ying says mildly.

Sizhui sets her brush down on her writing desk. “Jingyi,” she scolds. To Wei Ying, she says, “Thank you for your advice about treating lashes. They were very effective.”

Wei Ying smiles. She’s only been back for a few days, but Sizhui is already her favorite of the trainee maids she’s been sent to serve.

Of course they were effective, she wants to boast. I used them myself when I was your age!

Instead, she says, “Of course. Do you have any other questions for me?”

The girl hesitates.

Wei Ying nods encouragingly.

The tension in her shoulders ease slightly. Sizhui states, voicing lilting up at the end like a question, “Consort Lan doesn’t like goji berries or jujube, but Lady Lan serves red date tea to Consort Lan almost everyday.”

Ah. Wei Ying frowns. “Lan Zh — Court Lady Lan didn’t tell you?” If Lan Zhan didn’t want to explain, Wei Ying isn’t sure if she should.

Misreading Wei Ying’s frown, Sizhui protests immediately, “She would if I asked.” A bit chagrined: “It seemed…private. She always prepares and delivers it herself.”

Of course she would, thinks Wei Ying. Lan Zhan, you ever-devoted bastard.

“Oho!” she says out loud. “And you thought it would be alright to go behind her back and ask me, eh?”

Sizhui colors. “No, that’s not—”

Wei Ying laughs. “Don’t worry, it’s alright to be curious. You’re right that it’s a rather…delicate matter, but—” She shrugs, coming to her decision. The girls would’ve figured it out eventually. Anyway, it’s hardly secret knowledge. “Jujube and goji berry are good for the liver and kidney. It helps to tonify blood and qi, which is important,” she says meaningfully, “for building the strength to support life.”

Four sets of eyes look at her blankly.

Wei Ying sighs. Time to be more blatant. “Let me ask you: how many years has it been since Consort Lan entered the inner court? How many children has Her Highness carried to term?”

“Oh,” says Sizhui, crestfallen.

“But the king adores Consort Lan!” cries Zizhen, who has already shown herself to be quite the romantic. “They say he wandered into the kitchen in the moonlight and fell in love at first sight.”

Wei Ying feels her eyebrows lift in amusement. Have the palace girls gotten more fanciful since she was away? Does the king even know where the kitchens are?

“What use is a concubine that can’t bear children? I’m just saying!” Jin Ling adds defensively, when Jingyi and Zizhen turn to glare. Even Sizhui looks at her reprovingly.

“No way the king would ever abandon Consort Lan because of that,” declares Jingyi. Jingyi is a distant cousin of Lan Zhan and Lan Huan, Wei Ying remembers vaguely.

“Would it matter?” Sizhui asks, brow furrowed. “She has no children to support her and no standing without the king. The only reason she’s lasted so long is because of Noble Consort Jin.”

A moment of silence.

“And because of all of you,” Wei Ying reminds them gently. Swallowing down bitterness, she says, “Don’t overlook the power that you palace women have behind the scenes.”

Sizhui frowns. “Lady Lan says we should never use our position to influence court.”

Wei Ying’s mouth twists to match the sour taste in the back of her throat. “Of course.” She recovers gamely though. “And indeed you shan’t! What good little children you are! Is there anything else this lowly one can do for you? Any burns or cuts? Need someone to get you alcohol? ‘Special’ tea?”

“Big Auntie!” cries Jin Ling, horrified.

“I’m joking, I’m joking!” Wei Ying winks. “You’re far too young for that.”

Jin Ling scowls. “Don’t just say things like that.”

“Wait,” says Jingyi and Zizhen, looking like they’ve been hit quite hard over the head. “Big Auntie?????”

Aw shit. “Uh.” Wei Ying darts a look at Jin Ling, who’s scowling even harder and turning red. “I mean.”

Jin Ling, indignant: “And now you won’t acknowledge me?”

“Ah, ah A-Ling,” Wei Ying cries in protest. “You know how it is: physician ladies are lower than dirt! It won’t be good for you to be associated with me.”

“I’m not ashamed,” Jin Ling says, outraged. “You’re just embarrassing!” She reconsiders, having heard her words out loud. “I mean—”

“Madam!” gasps Jingyi.

“Court Lady Lan!” The girls scramble to their feet, murmuring greetings. Wei Ying follows just a beat behind, head bobbing down in prescribed deference. Zizhen not so subtly kicks her illicit romance novel under a cushion.

Lan Zhan’s inscrutable face looks down at them from the doorway. She considers them for a moment — Wei Ying can practically hear the kids sweating — and says, simply, “There’s work to be done.”

“Yes Madam!”

The girls scatter, casting varying looks of alarm (Zizhen, Jinyi, Jin Ling) and apology (Sizhui) at Wei Ying, who smiles and waves good-bye.

And then they’re gone, leaving just Wei Ying and Lan Zhan in the silence of their old dormitory.

Wei Ying can’t help it. She sneaks a look.

Lan Zhan is already looking back. Her eyes are — intense.

“Ah, Lan Zhan.” Did the air in here get thin all of a sudden? “Don’t be so harsh on them. They’re good kids, just needed some help in their downtime.” There! That sounded casual. Normal.

Can a physician lady like Wei Ying even be casual with someone like Lan Zhan?

Lan Zhan just stares.

“You know how it is,” Wei Ying rambles on. “They kept us hopping from dawn to dusk at that age, no leisure time at all! I always said that I’d change that when I—” Became highest kitchen lady.

Impudent! she can still hear Old Lady Lan shout.

Optimistic, Wei Ying had shot back, and promptly got another two weeks of dish duty.

She had been optimistic. And maybe also a little impudent. Everyone would’ve died before saying so, but it had already been a foregone conclusion that Lan Zhan or Lan Huan would succeed their aunt as highest kitchen lady, just as Old Lady Lan had succeeded her aunt, and her aunt before that, and her aunt before that.

Didn’t mean Wei Ying hadn’t planned on giving Lan Zhan a run for her money before that though.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, low and mournful.

Her voice, moans some piteous, wailing part of Wei Ying.

“I got called away so quickly earlier, we never got to catch up,” she says, like she hadn’t just stopped mid-sentence. “I never got to congratulate you. Your family has made quite the comeback. I heard that one of your cousins even passed the literary exams last spring. Old Lady Lan must be delighted! One Lan in the civil service, another in the inner court, and the last one is you. Head Court Lady of the Palace Kitchen! You must be so happy. You have to tell me all about it! Was it…was it worth it?”

Lan Zhan just looks at her. “Wei Ying. No.”

No. Classic Lan Zhan. When they were younger, it was always, Wei Ying, no, to this, and, Wei Ying, do not, to that. Of course the first thing she would say after 10 years is No, do not ask me about my personal and familial successes. Trust there to be some sort of Lan Clan rule about being humble and never bragging.

She needs to get out of here. She turns away. Studies the walls like she doesn’t hear Lan Zhan step towards her.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” she says, mind whirling aimlessly in place. She had missed the shape of Lan Zhan’s name so much. Had felt it bubbling in her mouth so many times and never let it out. “You work the kids too hard. Jingyi’s spleen is all twisted up from trying to please you. Sizhui is definitely going to have all sorts of liver problems when she gets old.”

“I will speak with them.”

Wei Ying barks a laugh. “So earnest!” she says, turning around. “I bet you work twice as hard as everyone else. You must have more aches and pains than the rest combined. If those little girls need help, you definitely do. Any pain I should know about? How’s your neck? Your back?”

Silence. Lan Zhan stands very still.

“How can this lowly one service you today?” She sidles closer. “Let me give you a foot massage.” There. Lan Zhan hates to be touched. Hopefully this will have her snapping at her to get out and leave her be.

Instead, Lan Zhan walks placidly over to the cushion on which Jingyi had sat and sinks elegantly to the ground.

Feeling like she’s made a tactical error somewhere, Wei Ying watches as Lan Zhan slips off her sock to reveal one pale foot peeking out from her dark skirts. She looks expectantly up at her.

Well, a physician lady can hardly refuse a senior court lady.

Dumbly, Wei Ying follows after her, and takes Lan Zhan’s foot into her lap, half expecting Lan Zhan to kick her away. Nothing happens. Wei Ying falls automatically into the starting movements of a foot rub, running her thumbs up and down the sole of Lan Zhan’s foot. Her skin is warm and dry. Her mouth looks pink and soft.

Right. She can do this. Pretend Lan Zhan is just any other patient. A patient that abandoned you, thinks some wretched part of her. A patient who’s been perfectly fine while you were gone.

Shut up! she tells herself. Out loud, she says, “Did you know, I learned a lot of medicine from Wen Qing before he died.”

Lan Zhan’s jaw clenches imperceptibly.

Wei Ying pretends not to see. “I learned even more in exile at the Burial Mounds from Wen Ning and the others. Life was hard, but they still found time to teach me. Did you know that the soles of our feet are connected to almost every part of our body? We can learn a lot just by examining them carefully.

“For example,” she touches the fatty ball of Lan Zhan’s foot, a fingers-width from the center. “Your lungs.” She moves her finger down and over, a little bit in from the meaty outside edge. “Your spleen.” Grief and worry. She can feel Lan Zhan’s eyes boring into her. Wei Ying keeps her eyes lowered. “These have both been suffering. Do you have a hard time sleeping at night? You should take it easy, or your body will suffer.”

Lan Zhan holds herself tense and still as Wei Ying works her way around. Wei Ying runs her finger lightly down the inside of Lan Zhan’s foot. She frowns.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying asks. “What’s wrong with your back?”

Lan Zhan jerks her foot away. “We’re done here,” she snaps. She sweeps out the room; the door closes behind her with a sharp clack.

“What…?” Wei Ying asks to the empty room.

She got what she wanted, so why does she feel so off-balance? Nothing left to do — Wei Ying starts packing up her kit, feeling numb. It must be the room. She’s been away too long. She’s forgotten how things are in the palace, the way they feel and look and smell. The rich colors, sandalwood incense. Sensory overload and all that.

Lan Zhan left her sock behind. For a moment, Wei Ying amuses herself imagining Lan Zhan going out the rest of her day like that, cooking dinner, ordering people around with mismatched feet. Totally undignified.

As a young maid, Lan Zhan had always kept her appearance impeccable. Wei Ying was the one constantly failing morning inspection, with her hair ribbon slipping and her collar poorly tied and sauce on her apron.

You look like a harlot, one of the senior ladies had snapped once. Lan Zhan followed three steps behind, switch in hand, mouth tight, looking anywhere but Wei Ying’s exposed collarbones. What will you do if a man sees you?

But Madam, Wei Ying had protested. It’s not like men are allowed to see me anyway!

That had not been an acceptable excuse. She got an extra two strikes for backtalk. Wei Ying had played up her cries and whimpers, watching in fascination as Lan Zhan’s ears turned redder and redder with each strike of the switch into her palm.

Wei Ying sighs. Realistically, Lan Zhan probably went straight back to her rooms to refresh as soon as she left. She shrugs, tucks the scrap of white cloth into the bottom of her kit, and leaves.

*

Wei Ying gapes at the attendant lady. “Who wants to see me?”

The attendant lady looks at her sharply.

Wei Ying immediately looks down. “Madam,” she says demurely, and follows her out into the evening air.

What??? Wei Ying thinks to herself. What??????????

What could the king’s brother want with her? Wei Ying has never even seen him before. She never worked in the kitchen that served his quarters, and the royal prince rarely attended any of the hunts or diplomatic dinners where she might’ve been asked to serve.

Rumor had it, he preferred leisure activities like painting and bird watching to studying or sword work. His brother, normally feared as a strict taskmaster with an explosive temper, had somehow allowed him to get away with it.

Although, with the king’s illnesses — and the lack of an heir — the prince may not be able to get away with it for much longer.

Or maybe not, Wei Ying thinks, considering the rumors of Noble Consort Jin’s influence on the prince and court. Meng Yao has come a long way from her maidservant days. She’d earned significant regard for maintaining order in the palace after the king’s first collapse, the one that had gotten Wei Ying and Wen Qing arrested. Since then, in the absence of a Queen or Dowager, she’s become the de facto head of the inner palace.

The attendant lady comes to a stop outside a large residence. She nods at another court lady standing outside.

“Your Excellency,” she calls. “Physician Lady Wei Ying is here.”

“Let her in,” someone responds.

The two palace maids on either side of the door open it in perfect unison. Wei Ying goes in, keeps her eyes on the floor, bows, kneels, and waits.

“Oh do look up, won’t you, Maiden Wei?” says Royal Prince Huaisang. “It’s odd to see you so demure.”

Wei Ying’s face shoots up. Her mouth drops down. “Brother Sang!?!?”

The rich young master who used to smuggle in contraband for the palace maids grins at her from the prince’s brocade seat. “Good to see you haven’t lost any of your spirit.”

Oh heavens, I’m done for, Wei Ying thinks. She snaps her mouth shut and trains her eyes back down on the ground. “Please forgive this one’s impudence, Your Excellency.”

The prince tuts and flaps his elegantly painted fan. “None of that now, please. We’re old friends, aren’t we?”

“Your Excellency, this one doesn’t dare,” Wei Ying murmurs, mind racing. What sort of stupid things had she said in front of him as a girl? What sort of idiotic crimes had she shamelessly admitted to? She’s certain she’s said them, but it’s been so long, her mind is completely blank.

Wei Ying had always considered the boy she’d known as Young Master Sang with a shallow sort of fondness. The foppish, feckless second son of a rich family, he’d had nothing better to do than pester the palace maids for gossip and sell them trinkets and dirty books on delivery days. Wei Ying had always thought him clever enough to get in, stupid enough to try. A useful connection and a fun conversationalist. Harmless.

Now, she thinks: a prince with a completely separate identity outside the palace either had some incredibly competent servants or was not nearly as harmless as he looked.

The prince sighs. “This is why I never tell anyone about this — it all turns into ‘Your Excellency this, Your Excellency that.’ Sometimes I miss the days when everyone just called me a rascal and was done with it. I could hardly believe it when I saw you dashing through the palace. I thought my longing for the good old days had conjured up a ghost!” He closes his fan with a sharp snick. “Didn’t you try to kill my royal brother?”

This, at least, is a familiar script. “Your Excellency,” Wei Ying cries. “I was wrongfully accused! Wen Qing and I and the rest of the Dafan Wen — we were all wrongfully accused.”

A thoughtful hum. “Is that so? But we have a written confession stamped in blood.”

“The confession was false!” Too forceful, Wei Ying thinks. She softens her tone. “Wen Qing lied to save me. He would never use medicine as a weapon. He took his duty as a physician very seriously. I don’t know why things turned out the way they did.”

“So why are you here, Little Sister Wei?”

Wei Ying swallows. “To find out what really happened. To restore the status of the remaining Wen and clear Wen Qing’s name.”

The prince sets his fan down on his table. “Good.”

Wei Ying looks up. “What?”

“I said, ‘good,’” the prince tells her. “I agree. There is something not right about that whole case, and I would like to know what.”

Wei Ying says, “Why would you care about what happened to the Wens?”

The prince shrugs. “I don’t.” He heads off Wei Ying’s outrage by saying, “My brother is ill.”

Wei Ying bites her tongue. Anyone could tell you that.

“He is ill, and in the last few years, he has been getting worse. Nothing seems to be working. Or if it works, he improves for a few weeks at best, and then he deteriorates again. It’s all endless acupuncture, foreign herbs — that we pay through the nose for, by the way — and replacing my brother’s closest attendants.”

Wei Ying tries and fails to hide her surprise. The king’s head eunuch and attendant lady have been dismissed? They’ve been with the king since he was a boy!

Prince Huaisang smiles without humor. “Noble Consort Jin decided that Eunuch Hui and Lady Xia could not be trusted to care for my brother properly. After the last round of treatments failed, I proposed looking at Physician Wen’s prescription again, since his had been the most promising until, well — you know.”

Wei Ying does, in fact, know.

“No one agreed,” says the prince. “And my efforts to learn more have been blocked at every turn. Everyone is far more interested in preparing me to rule — proposals they want me to implement, alliances they want me to pursue — than they are in preserving my brother’s life. I have never wanted the throne. Maiden Wei,” the prince becomes someone unrecognizable, someone completely divorced from the light-hearted boy she knew. “I will see this palace burn to the ground before I take the throne. Do you understand?”

Wei Ying swallows. She lowers her head. “Your Excellency,” she murmurs.

“I believe that we are uniquely positioned to help each other, don’t you think?”

“But Your Excellency,” Wei Ying says. “It’s been years. Without our notes from back then, I don’t know if I can recreate Wen Qing’s prescription or even remember his exact diagnosis. And even if I could, I still wouldn’t be allowed to treat His Majesty.”

“Let me worry about that,” says the prince. “What I need right now is a reliable agent in the Royal Pharmacy. You are, of course, welcome to continue your own investigations. If you come across evidence clearing your name while curing my brother, I will speak for you in court. Is that sufficient?”

Wei Ying nods.

“Good.” The prince picks up his fan. “I’ll pitch a fit in a few days and demand a new physician lady. We can use our morning check-ups to talk.”

Wei Ying bows. “Yes, Your Excellency.”

*

In their last year as an apprentice maids, Wei Ying punched Jin Zixuan in the nose.

She had said some hot bullshit about how she’d only entered the palace to avoid marrying Brother Jiang, which Wei Ying obviously could not let stand. Normally, a little violence amongst apprentice maids wouldn’t have been such a big deal, but the Queen Dowager had just happened to pass by, and while she had been amused, the Head Court Lady was not.

To everyone’s surprise, Old Lady Lan had stepped in to keep Wei Ying from getting thrown out. She was sent to the royal herb garden instead.

“How is that any better?” Jiang Cheng had muttered as she handed Wei Ying her things. “No one ever comes back from there.”

“Ah, don’t cry,” Wei Ying had responded. (“Who’s crying?!” Jiang Cheng had snarled, scrubbing at her eyes. “Maybe you’re just so ugly my eyes are watering.”) “I’ll accomplish some great deed for the kingdom and be back before you know it.”

But she was fighting back despair. On paper, the herb garden was for growing rare medicinal herbs, a vital task to avoid costly imports. But in reality, no one ever succeeded. People sent there were meant to waste away like the fields they were supposed to tend.

That was where she’d met Wen Qing and the other Wens.

Wei Ying could still remember the night Wen Ruohan had tried to overthrow the king. The senior court ladies had kept them locked down in their quarters the whole time. Wei Ying had tried to catch a glimpse out the door at the excitement, only to be yanked back by a stone-faced Lan Zhan.

Lan Huan, who normally possessed the amiable serenity of a Bodhisattva, had spent the excruciatingly long wait pacing the packed room, tensing at every clash and scream from beyond their walls. When it was finally over, she had disappeared for almost two hours and come back pale with relief, flakes of red in her hair like someone had brushed it with bloody fingers.

They were all relieved when the new king was crowned without incident.

The Wens at the herb garden had been from Dafan, rather than Qishan like Wen Ruohan. Wen Qing, the nominal head of their branch, had been a physician of great renown. He had managed to keep his family far enough from Wen Ruohan’s coup to escape execution, but not enough to escape the impacts entirely.

Wei Ying had always thought it was strange that someone of Wen Qing’s brilliance and fame couldn’t succeed at growing those herbs, but by the time she arrived, they’d been there for years. Hopelessness was baked into the air, in the ground.

Wei Ying’s mother had been a palace lady in the royal kitchen. She had loved it there. Even after she ran away to be with Wei Ying’s father, she’d still used what she’d learned there to raise her daughter. Wei Ying had grown up watching her mother cook with deft capable hands, turning grass into fine dishes, keeping her family alive through the worst of times, and when her parents died, she had survived long enough using what she’d been taught to be found by Uncle Jiang. She needed to return to the royal kitchen, where her mother had lived, and loved. She had survived too much not to.

Wei Ying sorted seeds, studied up, tilled the earth, and planted and watered in half-a-dozen different ways just to see what would happen. The others watched with varying degrees of amusement as she ran back and forth carrying water and dirt, fetching tools. Wen Qing’s younger sister Wen Ning followed her around, timidly imploring her to rest, and would inevitably get bullied into helping, until Wen Qing emerged from his office to shout at both of them.

One day, Wei Ying was showing little A-Yuan how to use a trowel, when she felt a shadow fall over them.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Wen Qing said.

Wei Ying grinned up at him. “Have you decided to come help me then?”

“No,” Wen Qing said, lifting A-Yuan up into his arms. “I just don’t want you to teach A-Yuan bad habits.”

“Brother Qing,” A-Yuan had said sweetly. “Down.”

Wen Qing said, in a kinder tone than he’d ever used with Wei Ying, “Are you sure?”

“I want to play with Sister Wei.”

“Very well then.” But when A-Yuan had begun to dash down the row, Wen Qing had said suddenly, “A-Yuan!”

Wei Ying saw the sprout of green that had caught Wen Qing’s gaze, and shouted, “Stop!”

A-Yuan stopped in her tracks, startled, and burst into tears. By the time they had apologized and calmed A-Yuan down, everyone had come to see what had happened.

One arm around A-Yuan, Wei Ying had touched two fingers to the precious astragalus peeking out of the earth. “It worked,” she said wonderingly.

“You did it, Maiden Wei,” agreed Wen Ning. “Congratulations.”

“Let’s drink!” shouted Forth Uncle. A cheer went up. Standing off to the side, Wen Qing remained unmoved by the celebratory mood. When he caught Wei Ying looking, he only shook his head, and turned away.

Two days later, Wei Ying woke to find the astragalus sprouts raked over and destroyed.

“You knew this would happen,” Wei Ying said, bursting into Wen Qing’s office shaking the torn up sprouts at him.

Wen Qing sighed, setting down his brush. “This isn’t the first time someone has gotten this far.”

“And the sprouts have been destroyed like this every time?”

Wen Qing said, “Must be wild animals.”

Wei Ying shook her head in disgust and left. She spent the next few weeks replicating what she had done before, coaxing life out of the life, but this time, when the astragalus began to grow, she staked out of the garden every night to watch for saboteurs.

On the third night, someone showed up to destroy the plants. Wei Ying hit him over the head with a shovel and tackled him to the ground. But the man — and Wei Ying had been sure it was a man she’d seen before — had thrown her off and bolted.

“Let him go.”

Wei Ying turned around outraged. Let him go?!

Wen Qing sighed and nodded his head back towards his office. “Come on.”

Wei Ying followed him sullenly. Petty, she brushed as much dirt off her clothes onto Wen Wing’s floor as possible.

Wen Qing considered Wei Ying from the other side of the table. “Do you know what astragalus is?”

“It’s a medicinal herb,” Wei Ying recited. “Highly sought after for its versatile forms, and numerous uses both inside and outside the body. It’s grown overseas.”

“Yes. When I was still a physician, astragalus was a herb I wanted to prescribe often, but couldn’t. Even a middle class family would have to beggar themselves for just this much.” Wen Qing held up two fingers, about half the width of a radish apart. “No one in this country knows how to grow it. We have to have it imported at enormous cost. The man holding the monopoly on astralagus makes ludicrous amounts of money because he knows people will have to pay whatever price he sets. If someone,” Wen Qing gave Wei Ying a meaningful look, “were to discover a way to farm astralagus here, that money would vanish.”

“Oh.” And then, furious, Wei Ying demanded, “Who?”

“Jin Guangshan,” Wen Qing had responded.

Zixuan’s father.

Jin Guangshan was one of the wealthiest men in the country, and one of the primary suppliers for the royal food services. Wei Ying had seen Jin Guangshan corner Zixuan in the unloading area more than once, gripping her arm hard enough to bruise, while Zixuan set her jaw and looked away. The most powerful faction at court was in his pocket, on top of numerous court ladies and eunuchs.

Wen Qing said, “The king hates us enough as it is. If we make an enemy of Jin Guangshan and his backers at court, who knows what will happen? The best we can do here is live quietly and do nothing.”

Wei Ying said, “Well I don’t want to live like that! And I don’t believe you do either! We can’t let a herb that could help so many people be held hostage like this. And I — I want to go home.”

Wen Qing only shook his head and looked away.

But a few days later a troop of royal guards appeared, demanding to know if it was true that they had grown astragalus successfully, and if Wei Ying was really the one who’d done it. The day after that, Jiang Cheng had come running up the path from the royal kitchens to tell her that the Chief Court Lady had allowed her to return — just in time for their entry competition.

When Wei Ying had tried to thank Wen Qing, certain that he was behind all this somehow, he only shook his head and told her to live well.

And that was the first debt she owed him.

*

The next week, a frazzled looking physician summons Wei Ying to go with him to see Prince Huaisang. Tending to the prince becomes one of her regular duties.

That evening, Wei Ying is brewing medicine with the other physician ladies when she’s summoned to the prince’s quarters.

“Ugh,” someone says. “It begins again.”

Wei Ying pauses in her cleaning. “Excuse me?”

“The royal prince,” Xue Yang says. She stretches, lazy and catlike. “He used to summon Xuanyu all the time for the silliest nonsense. She never did any work around here because he was always asking for her.”

“Xuanyu?” Wei Ying asks. “Is she another physician lady?”

“She was!” cackles Xue Yang.

“A-Yang,” Xingchen sighs.

Xue Yang pouts. “Fine.” She flips her knife around her fingers and stabs it into the herb she’s trimming. “But I’m not covering anyone’s duties because of this!”

Xingchen shakes her head at her, and says to Wei Ying, “His Excellency tends to have ailments that interfere with official duties, or require a physician lady to humor him for a few hours. You can’t refuse him, so just do as he asks — within reason — and the senior physicians or the king will deal with him later.”

Wei Ying bows. “Understood.”

*

At the prince’s residence, Wei Ying says, “Your Excellency, I’m afraid I have no updates for you.”

“No, no,” the prince says. “I just wanted to see you. It recently occurred to me that I never got to eat your cooking before. Even though I begged so much!”

On one notable occasion, he’d even offered a ‘very generous’ deal on his goods, if she’d throw in a box of handmade snacks. It had still been tantamount to highway robbery, and she had told him so.

“I hope I don’t have to beg you now,” the prince says.

Wei Ying lowers her head. “Your Excellency, of course not.”

*

Red painted walls loom over Wei Ying as she taps the side of her nose. Baskets of ingredients lay about the kitchen, prepared for the next day’s meal. What to make? She doesn’t even know if she can cook as well as she used to – or more importantly, as well as the prince is used to. With all her years away, she definitely isn’t up to the standard that Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng are at now.

Speaking of – footsteps approach.

Shit! Wei Ying thinks, and ducks down behind the counter on instinct, even though she has perfectly legitimate reasons for being here!

“Everything is prepared?” says a rich, familiar voice.

“Yes, Madam.” Jingyi.

Silence. Wei Ying tries not to breathe.

“Madam?” asks Jingyi.

“Mn. Take the night off.”

“Eh? But—”

“I’ll be fine.” Not unkindly: “You’re dismissed.”

Jingyi makes a skeptical noise, but leaves. A set of footsteps fade into the distance.

The remaining set of feet walk up to Wei Ying’s hiding place.

“Wei Ying.”

She looks up and smiles sheepishly. “Hi.”

Lan Zhan’s flawless face looks down at her, light brown eyes impassive.

Still crouching, Wei Ying says, “I’m sorry to intrude.”

Lan Zhan’s eyebrow twitches, like, So why are you here?

“Why are you here?” Wei Ying asks.

“Midnight snack.”

“Ohhh,” says Wei Ying. It is about that time of night. Poor Lan Zhan, forced to stay up past her bedtime. “Ok.”

“Wei Ying.” What Lan Zhan probably means is, You’re avoiding the question. “Please stand,” she says instead.

Wei Ying gets up. Upright, their faces are suddenly very close. Lan-Zhan-and-kitchen smell enters her nose - sandalwood and hair oil and something sharp and cool. Wei Ying steps back.

“I didn’t expect anyone to be here,” she confesses sheepishly. “Which seems silly now that I think about it. Lan Zhan, what should I do?” she asks, deflecting and only half-serious. “The Royal Prince asked me to make his midnight snack for him, but I’m out of practice and I don’t know what to make!”

Lan Zhan blinks once, then nods decisively. “We can make it together.”

Wei Ying says, “What.”

The barest hint of hesitation touches Lan Zhan’s soft mouth. “If you want,” she adds.

“I do!” Wei Ying protests, without thinking at all. The uncertain bend of Lan Zhan’s mouth straightens immediately, and Wei Ying watches, dumbfounded, as Lan Zhan takes off her jacket and ties her apron. She rolls up her sleeves in deft, practiced movements.

Wei Ying follows Lan Zhan around the kitchen as she picks her ingredients. “But you don’t work in the royal prince’s kitchen.”

Lan Zhan picks up a turnip, testing its firmness and checking for spots. “Lady Yang is sick,” she replies. Lady Yang, presumably, is the court lady that was supposed to take care of the prince’s food tonight.

What’s the point of being Highest Kitchen Lady if you can’t even make someone else cover someone else’s shifts? Although, Wei Ying supposes, if Lan Zhan had, someone else would’ve caught her in the kitchens instead, which probably wouldn’t have gone well for Wei Ying at all.

Lan Zhan gets out a large mixing bowl. She looks at Wei Ying and tilts her head just a hair. Half suggestion, half question, she says, “They had planned on stuffed buckwheat pancakes.”

Wei Ying perks up immediately. She loves pancakes. She loves pouring the batter out all thin and perfectly level. She had been the only girl in their year to flip one perfectly on their first try. “I want to do the pancakes!”

Lan Zhan hands her the bowl and chopsticks and nudges her towards the flour. “Mn.”

But despite her enthusiasm, Wei Ying quickly gets distracted, watching Lan Zhan chop vegetables.

Noticing her stare, Lan Zhan offers Wei Ying her knife handle first.

Now, Wei Ying really has to stare. What the hell? When they were younger, Lan Zhan would’ve stabbed her if she’d even looked at her knife wrong. And now she’s just handing it to her? Like that’s a normal thing to do?

“No, no, it’s ok.” Wei Ying shakes her head and goes back to whisking the batter. How is it possible for Lan Zhan to have gotten even better?

Lan Zhan has always been good, but her motions have gotten smoother, her knife effortlessly precise and quick, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. An extra decade or so of practice will do that to you, Wei Ying supposes.

After a few moments of consideration, she says, “Lan Zhan.”

“Mn.”

“What if we tried adding some dates? It could be interesting for the flavor.”

A pause. An elegant hand reaches into one of the nearby baskets. “Mn.”

Wei Ying smiles.

When she starts frying up the pancakes, Lan Zhan stops her.

Wei Ying looks at her in question.

Lan Zhan holds up her hands into a circle, about the size of a small stone pot. “This big.”

Oddly specific, but, “Ok,” Wei Ying says.

Later, as the last of the pancakes cook, she watches Lan Zhan scrape and toss vegetables with the same solemn focus that she had possessed as a little girl. Mischief bubbles up in Wei Ying and curls at the corners of her mouth. She reaches silently for the chili paste. A big hand closes around her wrist.

“Oh come on!” Wei Ying protests. “I won’t even add that much!”

Lan Zhan doesn’t even look up from her cooking. “No.”

“But like this it’ll be like rabbit food!”

“You shouldn't eat so much spice before bed.“

“But who will eat it with no flavor at all?”

Lan Zhan’s frown deepens. Wei Ying is about to hurriedly assure her that actually, Wei Ying finds her food to be very flavorful and delicious, when Lan Zhan says, “One spoon.”

Wei Ying cheers.

She’d missed this, cooking with Lan Zhan. They had competed so fiercely when they were younger, fighting for praise, for the best tasks, for the highest rank. But honestly, this was what she had wanted the most: to just keep cooking with Lan Zhan.

When it comes time to assemble their dish, Lan Zhan rolls the pancakes so that they wrap the stuffing and ties them off with scallions.

“Oh!” Wei Ying crowds over Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “That way they won’t fall apart when you pick them up. That’s so smart!”

Lan Zhan’s ears turn a pleased red. “Mn.”

Wei Ying pops some leftover radish into her mouth and licks her fingers with a happy noise. “Yep,” she says. “Still got it.”

Lan Zhan huffs, “Shameless!”

Wei Ying laughs. It’s been a long time since she heard Lan Zhan say that. “What?!” she says innocently. “I was talking about you!”

Lan Zhan casts a blatantly dubious expression her way. Wei Ying laughs and follows her out into the night.

They deliver the prince’s table.

For a moment, he looks far too interested to see the two of them together. The expression is there and gone, quickly replaced by sheepish chagrin.

“I forgot to send notice!” the prince exclaims. “I asked Wei Ying to make my midnight snack, but I forgot to tell the kitchens. Lady Lan, I’m apologize for the inconvenience.”

Lan Zhan inclines her head.

“It seems like it worked out though,” the prince says cheerfully, picking up a piece of pancake. He turns it this way and that. He takes a bite. “This is delicious!”

Wei Ying can’t help it. She nearly sags with relief. “Thank you, Your Excellency.”

“I almost wish we’d kept you in the kitchens,” the prince tells her. “What a team the two of you make! I suppose our loss is the Royal Pharmacy’s gain, don’t you think, Lady Lan?”

Lan Zhan, just a touch stiff: “Your Excellency.”

The prince chuckles. He sounds fond. Technically, Lan Zhan and the prince are relatives now, Wei Ying realizes. He must have had years to accustom himself to Lan Zhan’s taciturn nature.

“The two of you should get some rest now,” the prince says. “You’ve done well tonight, Court Lady Lan. Physician Lady Wei.”

“Your Excellency,” they chorus, and then they go.

*

Outside, Wei Ying chatters idly as they leave the prince’s residence behind. Their job is done. Serving maids will return the dishes to be washed by the little apprentice girls tomorrow morning, and then Lan Zhan will do this all over again.

Lan Zhan looks so beautiful under the night sky. A face that would embarrass the moon, Wei Ying thinks wistfully.

She can’t help lingering when they reach the big road that runs through the palace. Wei Ying shuffles her feet. There’s a chill in the air. “I guess this is where we part ways then.”

Lan Zhan nods. Torchlight catches in the twists of her braids. There’s a hint of exhaustion in the lines of her face. “Mn.”

Wei Ying swallows. “Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight,” comes the steady reply.

Wei Ying turns to go, but after a few steps, she stops. “Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan turns around.

Wei Ying doesn’t know what possesses her, but she shouts, “See you tomorrow!”

And Lan Zhan smiles.

As she walks home that night, Wei Ying thinks about that smile, and how her own heart had seized at seeing it.

The other girls used to tell stories about kings falling in love at first sight, elevating lowly maids to royal concubines, and then queens. Wei Ying hadn’t seen the appeal, but she thought if the king was going to fall in love with anyone at first sight, it would be Lan Zhan. A face that puts the moon to shame. The thought had always left her sick with fear.

She had been so horribly relieved when it turned out that Lan Huan was the one the king wanted.

As for Wei Ying, well — who would want her?

*

Wei Ying slid the door silently shut and sighed. Safe.

Eager to sleep, she turned around.

A pair of eyes glinted out at her from the dark. “Wei Ying,” a voice said reprovingly.

Wei Ying shrieked, loudly. She clamped one hand over her mouth.

When Lan Zhan frowned and tried to speak, Wei Ying lunged for her, tripping over Lan Zhan’s bedding and toppling them both to the ground, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Lan Zhan smelled like sandalwood and fancy hand cream and kitchen smoke.

Wei Ying froze, waiting for someone to come investigate, and upon hearing no noise, relaxed. Lan Zhan stayed tense, staring up at her in the moonlight.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying whispered. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Lan Zhan sat up, pushing her off. “Where have you been?” she demanded quietly. “You missed curfew.”

Wei Ying shrugged. “I was running errands.”

Lan Zhan looked towards the window, as if to say, At this time of night? and then at Wei Ying’s overcoat dropped by the door, as if to say, For the fifth time this month?

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying observed. “You are far too observant.”

Lan Zhan frowned at her.

Suspiciously: “You won’t tell?”

Lan Zhan nodded.

“Promise?”

Apprehensive, but so solemn and so sincere: “I promise.”

“I was at the herb garden,” said Wei Ying.

Lan Zhan almost looked surprised. “The…herb garden?”

“I know, I know, everyone thinks it’s awful there, but it’s really not so bad! And the people there are wonderful — you would really like them.”

“…like them.”

“Yeah! Granny Wen and A-Yuan and Wen Ning and Wen Qing and Fourth Uncle. They make fun of me for coming back all the time, but it’s nice to just get my hands in the dirt sometimes, and look after A-Yuan, or help Wen Qing out. He’s been teaching me about herbs and medicine.”

“You…go to farm and learn medicine?”

Wei Ying nodded.

“So you are not,” Lan Zhan confirmed carefully, “having an affair?”

Wei Ying had laughed out loud.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan hissed, ears darkening.

Through her smothered giggles, Wei Ying said, “Lan Zhan, did you hit your head? Who would I have an affair with? How would I have an affair? Why would I have an affair? Even I don’t have that much of a death wish.”

“You come back late at night,” Lan Zhan gritted out. “Flushed and breathing hard.”

“It’s an uphill climb!” Wei Ying protested.

They fell silent as footsteps approached outside. When they faded down the hall, Wei Ying knocked into Lan Zhan’s side. “Were you jealous?”

Lan Zhan’s head snapped around to stare at her.

Ignoring the way her stomach was rolling, Wei Ying had teased, “Do you want to have an affair? Lan Zhan, you can tell me, I won’t tell!”

Lan Zhan huffed and laid back down to sleep.

Wei Ying laughed silently after her and disrobed for bed. Crawling under the covers next to her, she said, “Let me guess. Do you like…Minister Luo?”

“Go to sleep.”

“Alright, alright, goodnight Lan Zhan.”

Outside the wind rustled and wild animals called.

“Wei Ying.”

“Mm?”

“We belong only to the king. Don’t forget.”

There was a tightening in her chest. “I know, Lan Zhan. I know.”

It was hard to forget who owned you, when it hung over you like a noose around your neck. Only a few weeks later, Jiang Cheng was arrested when one of the princes was paralyzed after eating her food. She was slated for interrogation, where she would be tortured until she confessed.

It was only because of sheer luck that Wei Ying was able to discover what had gone wrong. A poor interaction between ingredients in the dish and the prince’s medicine, as she explained when Lan Zhan found her the next morning.

“Are you sure?” asked Old Lady Lan.

“I tested it myself!” Wei Ying declared.

Lan Zhan huffed, kneeling on the ground beside her, trying to knead feeling back into her limbs. “On yourself,” she murmured reproachfully, accompanying her words with a particularly sharp squeeze.

“Ow!” Wei Ying said, kicking reflexively. She rubbed at her leg automatically. “Lan Zhan, was that really necessary?”

Looking satisfied at Wei Ying moving again, Lan Zhan retreated.

Old Lady Lan still looked doubtful. “And you’re sure the effects will fade?”

“I’m fine, aren’t I?” Wei Ying retorted.

But she wasn’t.

Wei Ying was finishing up a celebratory soup for the newly released Jiang Cheng, when the girl in question wandered over.

Wei Ying slapped Jiang Cheng’s hand away when she tried to dip a spoon into the pot. “It’s not ready yet,” she said. “It needs more salt.”

Jiang Cheng scoffed. “I’ve been watching you add salt for half an incense stick now.”

“Yeah, because you can’t taste anything.”

Jiang Cheng made a disbelieving noise and darted past Wei Ying’s defense. She emerged triumphant with a spoonful, took a sip, and promptly spat it out. “Is this a prank?” she demanded. “Has your love for spice extended to salt now? That’s disgusting!”

“There’s no need to be rude,” Wei Ying had said, a little wounded. “Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan!” she called. “Here, try this.” She watched as she took a sip, face impassive.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said after a pause. “It’s too salty.”

Wei Ying frowned, taking another taste. What was up with everyone today? She could barely taste anything.

That turned out to be the problem. She couldn’t taste.

The physician lady told her that it was likely a result of her paralysis – all she could do was wait and see.

What use was a cook with no taste? If anyone knew, she’d get kicked out in an instant.

Wei Ying, who used to be so eager for every opportunity to cook, began to shirk shifts and dodge out on demonstrations.

“I just don’t feel like it,” she would say.

Jiang Cheng rolled her eyes and shouted at her about responsibility to cover up her concern. Lan Zhan only looked at her, tight-lipped and impassive, while Wei Ying pretended not to see and refused to come home until long after Lan Zhan fell asleep.

If she couldn’t taste, how would she test her dishes? Discover new flavors? Serve others food? Once again, Wei Ying stared down the whole of her life turning to ash in her mouth, and she did not know what to do.

Wen Qing saved her.

He had been developing a treatment using bee stings to promote healing, and he allowed Wei Ying to bully him into letting her be a test subject. He injected Wei Ying’s tongue, and a few days later, her taste came back.

That was the second debt that Wei Ying owed Wen Qing.

*

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying waves cheerily through the window. The way Lan Zhan’s face softens when she sees her makes Wei Ying feel fluttery and warm inside. It feels nice. Recently, She’s been greeting Lan Zhan every chance she gets, just to see if it still happens each time. It has.

Lan Zhan steps elegantly into the little side kitchen. “Wei Ying.”

“Court Lady Lan,” Jingyi says miserably, eyes watering. “Please save us.”

“Oh, buck up!” Wei Ying slaps the girl on the back. “Focus!”

Sizhui coughs in the background and dabs discreetly at her nose. “Ma-madam.”

Zizhen chugs water straight from the jar as Jin Ling pokes warily at an eye-searingly red dish, one of many before her. “What the hell,” she mutters, and shoves a piece of eggplant into her mouth. Her face flushes, and she nearly spits the eggplant back out.

Lan Zhan swings her gaze back around to Wei Ying.

Wei Ying holds her hands up. “I can explain.”

She had been tending to the junior maids in the dormitories, when she made an offhand comment about the cooling weather and chili peppers.

What, really? Zizhen asked. I didn’t know we were supposed to eat peppers in the winter.

They stimulate heat and circulation in your body, Wei Ying said. They’re good for you!

Jin Ling had scoffed, the traitor. Zixuan had definitely spoiled her too much as a child. And also failed to feed her enough spicy food.

It’s true! Wei Ying insisted. I survived off wild peppers for a month in the middle of winter as a child. That’s why I’m so resistant to the cold!

Really? Sizhui had asked, wide eyed.

Of course! she lied. (Actually, from her patchy memory of that time, Wei Ying had eaten a lot of stale breads and thrown out vegetables. Watermelon rinds and wild berries in the summer.)

Jin Ling had said, We don’t really cook spicy food here.

What? Still? Wei Ying had cried, appalled. She had hoped that a few years would’ve been enough for the palace to develop some proper taste.

What do you mean, still? Jingyi said.

Never mind that, Wei Ying said. Spice is a gift from the gods! No one has taught you how to cook with it?

Jin Ling, looking like she half-expected to get jumped, said, Court Lady Lan doesn’t like spice.

Woah, said Jingyi. Just because someone doesn’t like something doesn’t mean they can’t cook it and cook it well!

Sizhui said, We don’t serve the king spicy food very often because he has an excess of yang energy and we don’t want to make it worse.

That’s all well and good, Wei Ying had said, getting up. But all of you still need to know how to season food properly. Follow me.

There had been a chorus of groans and complaints, but the children had all followed her out anyway, even though they really didn’t have to. That had warmed Wei Ying’s heart right up. She led them to the little side kitchen where she used to practice as a child.

She told all of the girls to go to the storeroom and bring back one pungent or spicy ingredient and one other ingredient in a different taste category.

They had groaned and complained, but to Wei Ying’s surprise, they had done it. In fact, they had seemed totally unphased by this, like it was completely matter of course.

When Wei Ying brought it up, Zizhen told her that Lan Zhan used to have them do similar things as children.

Oh, Wei Ying had said. That was how Wei Ying had been trained, but she had always been the odd one out.

She had the girls combine their different ingredients and cooking methods and observe how eating the food made them feel. This was where Lan Zhan found them.

Jingyi says, “How am I supposed to feel anything when all I feel is my tongue on fire?”

“Like I said,” says Wei Ying. “You need to focus! Where is the energy in your body going?”

“Towards my snot and tears?”

“Ah!” says Sizhui. “It’s rising!”

Wei Ying points at her. Jingyi groans in the background. “Correct!” Wei Ying says. “Spicy food is good for flushing out dampness in your body, which helps you stay healthy in the winter. Although, spicy foods aren’t only used for cold weather,” Wei Ying says. “You can also use peppers in a lot of cooling dishes, for example: smashed cucumber and peppercorns. Why do you think that is?”

“It makes you sweat,” Jin Ling says thickly.

“So it cools you down!” says Zizhen.

“Also correct,” says Wei Ying. “It makes your body release heat. It also contrasts with and enhances the naturally cool properties of the cucumber you’re eating.”

Sizhui frowns. “But Senior Wei, how can something heat us up and also cool us down?”

“Ah,” Wei Ying says. “Weeell…”

“I knew it,” Jin Ling declares. “I knew you were just making stuff up.”

“Not true!” protests Wei Ying. “Just give me a moment to organize my thoughts.”

“It depends on usage,” says Lan Zhan. She looks at Wei Ying, as though asking for permission.

She’s treating me like a fellow instructor, Wei Ying thinks. She gestures for her to continue.

Lan Zhan inclines her head and turns back to the juniors. “Spice can stimulate and circulate heat, while too much can cause its expulsion. The effect depends on the balance of energies in the dish and body. In Physician Lady Wei Ying’s example of cucumber salad, the portion of spicy pepper to bitter cucumber should be no more than one part out of ten.”

The children nod and make affirmative noises to each other.

“Listen to your Court Lady Lan,” Wei Ying tells them. “She’s so knowledgeable!” She sighs. “Who knows how many more years you lot will need to reach her level?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan scolds.

Wei Ying laughs and claps her hands. “Alright! Who can come up with another dish that combines warm and cool ingredients?”

All four children raise their hands.

The rest of the hour passes pleasantly. The children are eager and silly. Wei Ying cajoles and teases. Lan Zhan guides them patiently and steadily.

When the impromptu lesson is over, Lan Zhan makes all of them pear soup. It warms Wei Ying right up.

*

Wei Ying hurries along to the prince’s quarters. She just saw Noble Consort Jin heading towards the king’s residence in a barely controlled stride, followed by a flock of attendants and interestingly enough, Court Lady Su and Xue Yang as well. Something must be happening.

She’s thinking so hard, she nearly runs into someone as she rounds the corner. A mid-level official someone, based on his blue robe. She bows deeply and apologizes, waiting for the shouting to start. But instead:

“Palace Maid Wei?”

Wei Ying looks up.

Sir Luo smiles down at her, delighted. “Palace Maid Wei, it really is you!”

“Sir!” she says, shocked but equally delighted. Sir Luo had always been good to them back when he was only a junior clerk sent to investigate financial discrepancies in the Food Services Department.

“It’s been so long,” Sir Luo says. His face grows solemn. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard what had happened with you and Wen Qing and the king — I tried to look more into it, but all the records were sealed. How did you come back to the palace?”

Even if he hadn’t succeeded, it was kind of Sir Luo to try to help. “I became a physician lady,” she says, touched. “They recruit us from the slaves. If you’re good enough, you can even enter the palace.”

“And naturally, you were.”

Wei Ying grins with a touch of her old arrogance. It is good to see Sir Luo again. “Naturally.”

“Where were you going in such a hurry?” Sir Luo asks. “Are you in trouble? If you are, you can always come to me for help.”

Wei Ying probably shouldn’t tell him about all the palace scheming she’s gotten herself mixed up in. Seems like the kind of thing an upstanding official would disapprove of. She says, “I’m quite alright. What are you doing here?”

“I just delivered some evidence to the Office of the Inspector General,” says Sir Luo, looking pleased. “I’m waiting to hear how the king responds.”

Interesting. She wonders if that has anything to do with Meng Yao’s haste earlier. Speaking of — “I’m sorry, sir, but I really must get going.”

Sir Luo steps aside in a gentlemanly manner. “Of course, I’m sorry to keep you from your duties. It was good to see you, Palace Maid Wei. Please let me know if you ever need any help. If you ever want to get the Wen’s treason case reopened, know that you have at least one ally in court.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Wei Ying flashes a smile, turning to go.

“Oh!” Sir Luo says, stopping her. “And please give your brother and Zixuan my regards.”

Wei Ying beams, for real this time. “Of course!”

*

“You were careless, not unlucky,” a voice says pleasantly.

Wei Ying freezes, tucked in the shadows outside Consort Jin’s residence.

“It was only because of me that we were able to salvage something from your mistake,” that same voice continues.

“Your Highness!” a different voice – male, nasally – pleads.

“Enough, Cousin.” A tired sigh. “Go home. Tell A-Su to come see me at his earliest convenience.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” A richly dressed man retreats out of White Peony Hall. As soon as the maids close the door behind him, his subservient demeanor drops. He casts back a look of disgust and strides off into the night. Wei Ying bows low over her bowl of medicine as he passes by. He doesn’t spare her a single glance.

That must have been Jin Zixun, the apparent head of the Jin clan. After years and years of failing to produce legitimate sons, Jin Guangshan had adopted his nephew as heir.

“Your Highness,” the attendant lady at the door calls as Wei Ying approaches. “The physician lady is here with your evening medicine.”

“Let her in.”

Holding back trepidation, Wei Ying enters and bows.

Meng Yao looks up. Pure shock flashes across her face, before it is expertly hidden.

She didn’t know, thinks Wei Ying. She didn’t know I was back. Somehow she had expected Meng Yao to have kept tabs on her. But why would she? They had barely known each other as servants, only acquainted through Lan Huan, and then Meng Yao had become Concubine Meng while Wei Ying had been framed and exiled, her life forfeit to the endless machinations for power.

At the time, Wei Ying had been grateful to her for preserving Lan Huan’s life after the whole case.

With a polite air of puzzlement, Consort Jin says, “You’re not Xue Yang.”

A-Yao never forgets a face, Lan Huan had once said. If it had been anyone else, Wei Ying would’ve called it boasting.

Wei Ying dips into a bow. “No, Your Highness. Physician Lady Xue Yang was called to attend the king.” He’d had another fit earlier that afternoon, one of his worst yet. Uncertain of her reception — she really didn’t want to get recognized and thrown back into prison by an irate Noble Consort — Wei Ying had tried very hard to avoid getting Xue Yang’s job. She’d failed, obviously.

A moment of silence. “I see,” Noble Consort Jin says. “Please leave the medicine over there. Someone will bring it back to the pharmacy later.”

“Very good, Your Highness,” she murmurs. She puts down the medicine and retreats. The doors close with a soft snick behind her.

Oof, she thinks. That could’ve gone so much worse.

Wei Ying has no reason to suspect Jin Guangyao of anything, really. She’s kept her reputation spotless. The most Wei Ying could accuse her of is being opportunistic, and honestly, when you’ve lived in the palace like Meng Yao, who wouldn’t be?

But the prince is wary of her. Wei Ying is wary too. It’s just all too coincidental for her liking, from the Jins doubling down on their monopoly after the Wen’s were exiled and their garden destroyed, to Lan Huan’s fall from grace just as she was gaining favor. From what other servants say, it was during the crisis of the king’s first illness that the then Concubine Meng truly began to gain prominence.

I guess we’ll see, Wei Ying thinks.

*

Xue Yang starts following her around. Truth be told, it feels equally likely for her to be following her own whims, than it is for her to be acting under Consort Jin’s orders. It’s still stressful though.

“I heard you placed first all the way up to the palace,” Xue Yang simpers, following Wei Ying to the juniors’ quarters. “Teach me your ways, Elder Sister Wei!”

“You’ve been here longer,” Wei Ying demurs.

“Ah, but you’ve had more experiences than me! I heard about you in the Royal Kitchen. Not everyone can poison the king and get away with it.”

I didn’t poison the king, and I definitely didn’t get away with it! she wants to say. Instead, Wei Ying laughs, directing them away from the path to the kitchen maids’ dormitory, heading to the sewing rooms instead. “Physician Lady Xue Yang,’ she says, mock scolding. “That’s not a very nice thing to say about someone’s cooking!”

Wei Ying cuts down her visits to the kitchens after that. Even if she weren’t an agent of Jin Guangyao, Wei Ying still wouldn’t want Xue Yang anywhere near Lan Zhan at all.

It’s hard. She’s gotten used to flouncing into the kitchens whenever she had time. She misses Lan Zhan’s soft eyes and Jiang Cheng’s prickly care and the juniors’ bickering. She hopes Consort Jin or Xue Yang, whoever is behind this, loses interest soon.

Wei Ying hasn’t even been able to avoid them during her morning rounds. She’s been getting dragged along to Consort Jin’s residence three mornings out of five, with Consort Jin arriving at the prince’s the other two days.

Ever since the king’s last fit, the royal physicians have been adamant about him taking a break. Wei Ying heard that they even brought out Consort Lan to force him to listen. Now, the king and Consort Lan are taking relaxing walks everyday while Prince Huaisang rules as regent.

Elder Sister-in-Law, the prince had wailed when Noble Consort Jin had arrived that morning. You have to help me! He’d gestured to the mountain of scrolls on the desk before him. I don’t understand what any of this means!

Your Excellency, how can a mere woman look at state documents? demurred Consort Jin.

But you’re so smart, the prince cried. Please, just take a look and help me.

Noble Consort Jin had clucked her tongue. My prince, she had said gently. You know you cannot shirk this responsibility forever. I won’t be in the palace forever. His Majesty —

Not this again! Prince Huaisang had cried, the picture of petulance. You just don’t want to help me! Are you saying that all the best physicians of our nation cannot save their own king?

Of course not, Jin Guangyao had said. He’s doing better now isn’t he? Are you saying that Elder Sister Huan isn’t taking care of him well enough? I only meant that ever since my A-Song died, our future has rested on you. Your Excellency cannot escape this. Seeing the prince unmoved and refusing to look at her, the consort sighed. Very well, she’d said. But just this once.

It had been five times already.

It was fascinating to watch. This Noble Consort Jin is truly a master, Wei Ying had thought, as the consort went through the documents with an expert eye. She had a talent for feeding information and nudging ideas towards the prince while maintaining the guise of deference.

Although, Wei Ying had thought, watching the prince flutter his fan and beg Jin Guangyao into taking home a pile of paperwork. The prince really can’t be overlooked either.

And here I am wedged between the two of them, Wei Ying thinks now with a shudder. She comes to a halt outside the Jiang family gates.

Originally, when she first drew Consort Jin’s notice, she had considered moving out. Brother Jiang and Zixuan had opposed.

Stay, Jiang Yanli had said firmly. We’ve been separated long enough. A-Cheng would agree.

Best to let them see how harmless we are, Zixuan had advised. I know how my family thinks. It will be easy enough for them to dismiss you soon, especially as a low class woman

Anyway, Brother Jiang had joked gently, looking at Zixuan, It’s not like they don’t already know where we live.

Wei Ying had protested, But the children…

The children will be fine. We will take care of them, said Zixuan.

Wei Ying sighs.

The gate cracks open. “Big Auntie,” says one of the aforementioned children. “Are you going to come in or not?”

Wei Ying puts her hands on her hips, looking down on her youngest nephew. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I was helping Mother with a guest,” the child informs her. His chest puffs up faintly with pride.

“Guest?” Wei Ying says. “What guest?”

“Why don’t you come in and find out?” retorts her nephew.

“Alright, alright.” Wei Ying ruffles the boy’s head as she enters. He shakes her off immediately, trying to fix his hair. Wei Ying smiles and shakes her head. This little one takes after his mother.

“Little Six, there you are!”

The boy turns, brightening. “Father!”

Jiang Yanli receives him in his arms just as readily as he had when Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng had thrown themselves at him as children. He settles the child easily on his hip. “Young master, you really should be in bed.”

“But —“

“Your Big Auntie is home now, isn’t she?”

Wei Ying leans in grinning. “You were waiting up for me?”

He turns red. “No!”

“Little Six!” Brother Jiang admonishes.

The little boy deflates. He looks at Wei Ying shamefaced. “I’m sorry.”

“Good child,” Brother Jiang tells him. To Wei Ying he says, “I have to make sure this one stays in bed. A-Ying, there’s someone waiting in the back for you.”

Wei Ying wiggles her eyebrows at her nephew. “The guest.”

Brother Jiang smiles. “I see he already told you.” He pats Wei Ying’s cheek. “There’s food too, if you’re hungry.”

“Eldest Brother dotes on Ying-Ying the most,” Wei Ying says. “Ying-Ying is three!”

“A-Xuan made the food.”

Wei Ying makes a face.

Brother Jiang laughs. “Ying-Ying is definitely still three.”

Wei Ying makes an affronted noise, but she still smiles to herself as Brother Jiang carries Little Six away. She heads toward the back. A guest? She wonders who it is. She slides open the door. A woman in a familiar gray-homespun looks up.

“Wen Ning!?” Wei Ying cries, delighted.

Wen Ning smiles. “Palace Lady Wei!”

Wei Ying crashes forward to embrace her. “What are you doing here?” she asks. “How did you get here? Are you well? How is everyone?”

Wen Ning smiles. “I received my physician lady’s certificate,” she tells her. “And my status was raised. I thought the capital was as good a place as any to try a new start.”

Wei Ying takes Wen Ning’s hands in hers. “I’m so happy for you,” she says, scolding herself for her surprise. Did she expect time to stand still at the Burial Mounds while she was gone? Of course Wen Ning would’ve continued to progress in her studies as well. “Was the journey back hard? Do you need a place to stay? You still haven’t told me how everyone is.”

“We are all well,” Wen Ning says. “Fourth Uncle sends his regards, and asks you to drink a jug of Emperor’s Smile for him.”

Wei Ying laughs.

Wen Ning smiles in response, but then her face grows solemn. “Granny has passed.”

Wei Ying’s face drops. “Oh.”

Wen Ning squeezes her hands.

“How did — how did it happen?”

“It was peaceful,” Wen Ning says gently. “We were all there, and it was very quick. I’m sorry. There wasn’t time to reach you.”

Wei Ying blinks rapidly, staring up at the ceiling. She thinks of Granny, who had pinched A-Yuan’s cheeks and carried her on her back. Granny in torchlight, drawing the meridians of the body out in the dirt. Granny, laughing as Wei Ying and Wen Ning switched off carrying her uphill on their backs, play acting at horses and noble palanquin bearers. She had thought there would be more time.

“Are you alright?” Wen Ning says.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Wei Ying says, trying to redirect her focus. She had wanted for Granny, she had planned — a warm bed, thick blankets, good food, for her last days. Not this. She asks, “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright,” Wen Ning tries to assure her. “I’ve had time to mourn.”

“Of course,” Wei Ying says. “I’m. I’m glad.”

Wen Ning says, “Truthfully, I have another reason for coming to see you.”

Wei Ying tries to smile reassuringly. “What is it?”

“We know that you came back because you wanted to help us,” Wen Ning begins.

“What?” Wei Ying interrupts. “Didn’t I say how much I missed the palace? The Burial Mounds were so awful, I had to come back as quick as I could.”

Wen Ning sighs. “You used to say that the palace was a cesspool of vipers and that you hated all the rules, and that it was better to live honestly as farmers.”

“Are you sure? I don’t remember that,” lies Wei Ying.

“Palace Lady Wei,” Wen Ning starts. She sighs, shaking her head. “Granny and I and the other Uncles and Aunties talked, and we want you to know that you don’t need to do this. You’ve already given up so much for us. I even heard that you’ve been followed home because you’ve been trying to investigate our case! You’ve made it out of exile and into a better place. We want you to enjoy it and live well.”

Live well. Now, it is Wei Ying’s turn to shake her head. “I have to clear your brother’s name, Wen Ning. I owe him that much.”

Growing agitated, Wen Ning says, “You know my brother did not treat the king just because you asked, don’t you? He had his own pride and principles as a physician. And we all talked about it. We all agreed to the risk. Our lives have not been ours at all since my uncle committed his crimes. We are alright. We have lived longer and better than anyone in our positions could have hoped.

“You don’t need to blame yourself anymore,” Wen Ning says. “You fought for us. For my family, that is already enough.”

Wei Ying blinks long and hard at the ceiling. “I’m not changing my mind,” she says through a stuffy nose.

Wen Ning sighs. “I would be lying if I said I thought you would. But we wanted you to know. Will you let me help you this time?”

Wei Ying reaches blindly out to pat Wen Ning’s hand. “Okay.”

*

A few years after Wei Ying befriended the Wens, she began to notice something off about the king.

Of course, everyone knew there was something off about the king. He had been healthy as a child and strong as a young man, but now, when he should’ve been in the prime of his life, his health was failing.

His behavior was erratic. His strength faltered at odd times. Not enough to cause panic, but enough to keep the whole palace off balance. His temper got worse.

Wei Ying knew what the physicians said. She listened to what the physicians said. The kitchens cooked according to their recommendations, after all. But when she thought about it, and she thought about what she had picked up from Wen Qing and Granny, it just felt odd. There was this “click” that Wei Ying was used to when she puzzled over things, but now she could not, for the life of her, seem to make it happen.

Naturally, she went to Wen Qing. Wen Ning used to say her brother was the greatest physician of their generation, and Wei Ying had agreed. Wen Qing himsely said that the situation seemed strange, but he didn’t want to draw any conclusions without seeing the king himself.

“But obviously, that will never happen,” Wen Qing had said, referring of course, to his status as a Wen.

“But why not?” Wei Ying asked.

As Uncle Jiang used to say, Attempt the impossible.

Wei Ying told Lan Zhan, who told her sister, who had just been raised to a junior fifth rank royal concubine.

It was an open secret that the king had liked her for years, perhaps even more than Concubine Meng, whom he had favored until just recently. Everyone had breathed a sigh of relief when they married, hoping that her presence would stabilize him.

Are you certain? Lan Huan had asked Wei Ying. She had one hand placed absentmindedly over her stomach. And you trust this Physician Wen?

With my life, Wei Ying responded.

Alright, Lan Huan had responded. Let me see what I can do.

Selfishly, Wei Ying had her own reasons for hoping that Wen Qing might cure the king. She thought that maybe if Wen Qing achieved such a great service, he would be rewarded, and his family’s status would be restored.

She wanted it so that Fourth Uncle could return to his wine making business, and Wen Ning could study medicine properly, rather than squeezing her studies in between plowing and planting and farming. She wanted A-Yuan to have more toys than she could hold, and for Granny to have a warm and comfortable home for her aching bones.

They snuck Wen Qing into Lan Huan’s residence, and when the king came to visit, she somehow, miraculously, persuaded him to allow Wen Qing to take his pulse.

When Wei Ying saw Wen Qing next, he was buried in his books, with this furrowed look on his face.

Here, he had said, handing Wei Ying a list of ingredients for a medicinal dish. I want you to try feeding His Majesty this.

Wen Qing prescribed it, Wei Ying made it, Lan Huan served it, and suddenly, the king felt the best he had felt in years. His mind felt so clear, he went to spend the night with Concubine Meng, whom he had been displeased with recently.

The next day, he collapsed in morning court. His body shaking, his eyes rolling, his mouth spitting mad.

The end had come quickly after that.

*

Consort Lan says, “You must be wondering why I summoned you.”

“Your Highness,” Wei Ying murmurs, as noncommittally as she can. Despite the four braziers placed around the room, there’s still a chill in the air. Winter is here.

This is her first time seeing Lan Huan since she returned. She’s seen her from afar, or in medical settings, but never alone. She wasn’t sure if Consort Lan even knew she was back until she mentioned it to Lan Zhan, who had said, uncharacteristically darkly, She knows.

Wei Ying had assumed that Consort Lan was not pleased. But no one came to summon her or haul her off or throw her out, so Wei Ying had assumed that that was that and that they would exist separately in peace. But now here she was.

“You’re not here to be punished,” Consort Lan says. She smiles, friendly, but without the genuine fondness that used to touch her eyes when she looked at Wei Ying.

Wei Ying tries not to shrink in relief. She murmurs, “Your Highness has the right to act in any way she sees fit.”

Consort Lan shakes her head. “We’re not here to relive the past. I asked you here because A-Zhan is unwell.”

Wei Ying looks up. Lan Zhan, sick? How is that possible? When they were younger, she’d had the constitution of an ox. Lan Zhan could work through anything.

Consort Lan says, “I trust you will be discreet.”

Palace ladies must leave court if they fall ill. Wei Ying nods. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Good,” Lan Huan says. “Don’t let her push you out without treating her back.” She looks at Wei Ying, who nods, and then she dismisses her.

*

Wei Ying cracks open the door. “Lan Zhan?” What could Consort Lan have meant, talking so vaguely about Lan Zhan’s back? She’s definitely spent way too much time with the fluttering ladies of the inner court. Wei Ying closes the door behind her, tucking her kit under her arm. “Lan Zhan,” she calls. “It’s me.”

The air feels stuffy, like it hasn’t been aired out in a while. As she tiptoes through towards the bedroom, she notes the tidy and sparse decor with amusement. Lan Zhan, you old ascetic you.

The sound of coughing draws her attention. “Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying calls again.

There’s a soft noise.

Wei Ying rounds the corner and stops short. Lan Zhan still in bed?! Goodness, she must really be sick. Clucking softly to herself, she kneels down beside her, placing her kit quietly to the side.

“Lan Zhan,” she says. “It’s me. Her Highness sent me. Lan Zhan?”

The bundle of bedding shifts a little, but does not respond or wake. Wei Ying feels a coldness in a way that has nothing to do with the air outside. She shakes her gently. “Lan Zhan.”

She moves the sweat soaked blanket aside to reveal her face. When did Lan Zhan stop sleeping on her back? Laid out like a corpse, Wei Ying used to joke. It doesn’t feel funny now.

She places the back of her hand against Lan Zhan’s face. It is very warm, and for a moment, pure animal panic floods her, before she manages to push it down. Wei Ying has seen so much worse than this before, but those had always been patients, not stalwart, immovable Lan Zhan.

Patients. Right. She reaches for her wrist.

“Wei Ying.”

She freezes. Tentatively, she whispers, “Lan Zhan?”

Still asleep, Lan Zhan mutters again, “Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying takes her hand. “I’m here. Lan Zhan, I’m here.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes blink open, hazy with sleep. “Wei Ying,” she breathes. She reaches up, like she can scarcely believe it, like she expects Wei Ying to vanish like mist. “You’re okay.”

Wei Ying stares, stricken.

“You’re okay,” Lan Zhan mumbles again and slips back into unconsciousness.

*

Wei Ying sits with her hand in Lan Zhan’s for a while, and then she gently pulls away to tidy the room. Lan Zhan’s clothes are strewn haphazardly to the side of her mat, like she’d tried to dress and then run out of energy. Lan Zhan won’t be happy if she wakes to new wrinkles in her jacket or apron.

She slips out, quick as she can, to tell Jiang Cheng — who was suspiciously unsurprised, Wei Ying needs to investigate later — that Lan Zhan can’t work today and to ask Xingchen to cover for her, hiding from Xue Yang as she goes. She brings back extra hand braziers to tuck in around Lan Zhan, settling beside her on the floor.

And then she waits.

In the fading light, Wei Ying is pulled from her vigil by a beloved voice rasping, “Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying cries in relief, “Lan Zhan!”

A look of befuddlement touches Lan Zhan’s face. “What…?”

“You’re sick,” Wei Ying says. “Her Highness sent me to check on you. And it’s a good thing she did!” Wei Ying scolds, trying to cover up the shaking in her hands. “How on earth did this happen? You never get sick!”

Lan Zhan’s eyes go somewhere far away. She blinks once and comes back. “Times change,” she says and with clear effort, starts pushing herself upright.

Wei Ying places one hand on her back to help, and Lan Zhan winces.

Wei Ying snatches her hand back in alarm. “What’s wrong?!”

“Nothing,” Lan Zhan grits out.

“I know that’s a lie,” Wei Ying says. She crosses her arms as Lan Zhan says nothing, only looks around and reaches stiffly for the water and plain porridge Wei Ying left out for her. When Lan Zhan finishes eating and drinking, Wei Ying uses her foot to nudge a bowl of medicine at her. Lan Zhan reaches over and downs that too, without even reacting to the bitter taste.

Lan Zhan blinks at her placidly, like she’s waiting to see what Wei Ying will do next.

Wei Ying huffs and unwraps the rice cake she’d swiped from the kitchens, ignoring the touch of amusement in Lan Zhan’s face. For a moment she considers eating all of it right in front of her. Wei Ying generously refrains. She splits it in two instead.

Not that that’s easy, literally. She struggles for a moment, trying to pry the sticky rice cake apart without scattering food all over the floor. She lets out a triumphant cry as the two pieces finally come apart and presents the larger half to Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan takes it solemnly. “Thank you.”

“Hmph!” says Wei Ying, still grumpy, but she can’t help the pang of fondness when she sees Lan Zhan eat the tiny piece of cake in neat, equally tiny bites. Her piece is long finished by the time Lan Zhan is finally done eating. “Lan Zhan,” she says. “How are you really?”

“It will pass,” Lan Zhan says. She looks exhausted.

“I am a physician, you know,” Wei Ying informs her. “I know how to treat lots of things.”

“Mn.”

"I can help,” Wei Ying says. “Your sister said something about your back?”

Lan Zhan twitches in her equivalent of a shrug.

“Lan Zhan!” she cajoles. “I don’t know, but I think she might have me punished if you don’t let me take a look at it.”

Lan Zhan’s face darkens.

Wei Ying shrugs. “I am just a lowly physician lady after all…anything could happen…”

Still nothing.

“Oh no,” Wei Ying laments. “What if I get sent to the civilian pharmacy in disgrace? I’ll never be able to set foot in the palace again!”

Lan Zhan narrows her eyes at her.

Wei Ying grins back cheerfully.

Lan Zhan sighs and closes her eyes. “My cosmetics chest,” she says. “There’s an ointment in it.”

“Yes Madam!” Wei Ying says, jumping into action. She opens up Lan Zhan’s cosmetics chest, the one where she’d kept her hair oil and hand cream when they were little, and picks up a small container she doesn’t recognize. “Lan Zhan,” she calls, turning around. “Is this it— ?”

Her brain screeches to a sudden stop.

Lan Zhan is disrobing. Her shoulders are bare. She’s taking off her underskirt.

Wei Ying’s cheeks burst into flame. She’s never seen so much of Lan Zhan’s skin before, even when they were sharing a room. She needs to look away, but there’s this sick need in her chest howling to see more, more, more.

Lan Zhan turns away to take off her chest band, and Wei Ying sucks in a breath. She forgets everything else.

Her back — Lan Zhan’s back is covered in scars. They look so deep. There are so many. She doesn’t even realize she’s covered her mouth in horror until Lan Zhan looks back, and she snatches her hand away, tucking it into a fist behind her back.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. She sways a little, and Wei Ying darts forward to catch her. Her hands close around Lan Zhan’s bare arms. Lan Zhan shivers as they sink to the ground. “Wei Ying,” she repeats.

“I’m here,” Wei Ying says. “You shouldn’t have stood so suddenly,” she scolds, opening the container with shaky hands. It’s a sharp smelling ointment, like the scar salve Granny Wen used to make. She’s smelled it before, she realizes, lingering in the air around Lan Zhan. She thought it was something in the kitchens. How could she have not known?

Back when she had just returned, when she was trying to offend Lan Zhan into leaving her alone, she’d said —

Lan Zhan, what’s wrong with your back?

Thick and raised welts tangle one on top of the other, cracked and angry from the dry winter air. Only the palace discipline board leaves marks like this. For a palace lady, only the head court lady had the authority to punish someone like this.

Wei Ying had only ever treated one other slave with scars like this. She pushes down bile, remembering the relentless fight against blood poisoning, swatting away flies and praying for winter to come early. It had taken him months to sit up without pain. He had been a talented hunter before. Even now, years later, he could barely draw a bow at full strength, and not at all on bad days that could stretch into weeks and weeks.

Wei Ying had thought it was so funny, the way that Sizhui and the little trainee girls were so attentive to Lan Zhan. She barely needed to look at something for Sizhui to go get it, heaving over baskets, fetching tools from high shelves, pulling water from the well. She chalked it up to simple hero worship.

Lan Zhan must trust that Wei Ying knows what to do, because she slides the rest of the way to the ground, turning onto her front. The soft sides of her breasts peak out where they press against the mattress.

Feeling quite out of her own body, Wei Ying tugs the blanket up to Lan Zhan’s hips and tucks the rest as close as practical, a meager defense against the cold. She scoops out the ointment, warms it between her hands and gets to work. Pressure therapy is best for scars, and the ointment will soften and soothe the inflamed skin. Lan Zhan’s back tenses at first, but slowly, slowly, as Wei Ying works, she begins to relax.

She draws her hands across the raised skin, pressing into muscle, feeling the shift of her shoulder blades, smoothing the knots tucked between them. She tries not to linger on the dip of Lan Zhan’s waist.

Lan Zhan sighs, a quiet sound.

Wei Ying smiles. “Better?”

“Mn.”

“Tired?”

“Mn.”

“Go to sleep,” Wei Ying says, pulling the blanket up. “I’ll check on you in the morning.”

*

“I don’t know anything,” Jiang Cheng says flatly. “Go away.”

“Jiang Cheng,” whines Wei Ying. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“I can guess well enough,” Jiang Cheng mutters, drying her hands briskly. “Hey!” she snaps, making both Wei Ying and the girl she’s speaking to, one of the younger maids wiping down jars, jump. “How old are you? Turn those labels out properly.”

“Sorry Madam!” the young girl ducks her head and frantically turns the jars around.

Jiang Cheng shakes her head in exasperation and swats at Wei Ying when she whistles.

“Court Lady Jiang!” Wei Ying teases.

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng mutters, grabbing her by the arm and hauling her out the kitchen with her. “Come on. We’re getting more vinegar from the sauce pantry.”

Wei Ying stumbles along after her. “Okay, but what do you know about Lan— “

“You idiot,” Jiang Cheng interrupts. The maids in the courtyard bow as she passes, and she gives them a brisk nod. “Didn’t I just say we were out of vinegar?”

“Oh,” Wei Ying says, remembering where they are and who they’re talking about. “Sorry Madam.”

Once they’re out of earshot, Jiang Cheng flicks her head. “You always do this. Do you know how hard it was to get her into the head kitchen lady role? Are you trying to fuck all of us over?”

Wei Ying rubs her head, wounded and a little confused.

Jiang Cheng crosses her arms. “You always lose all sense when Lan Zhan is involved.”

Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying grabs Jiang Cheng’s sleeve like they’re eight years old again. “What happened?”

Jiang Cheng shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“But you know about her,” Wei Ying stumbles over the words. She can still see the livid criss-cross of ruined skin. “About her…”

“Her back,” Jiang Cheng says. “I was there.”

“You what?” Wei Ying yelps. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What’s there to say? There’s no point in telling. And it’s none of your business.”

“Of course it’s my business, I—“

“You…?”

Wei Ying puts her face in her hands. “How could Court Lady Lan allow such a thing?” What could Lan Zhan have done to be punished like this?

Jiang Cheng sighs. “I don’t know. We were all confused. It was right after you —“ Jiang Cheng stumbles a little “—left. Everything was so unstable, you know how it is, but at the time, it was even worse than usual. The Head Court Lady was involved.”

Wei Ying repeats, “You were there?”

Jiang Cheng nods, mouth a grim line.

Wei Ying’s voice comes out pathetically small. “Was it very bad?”

“I thought she was going to die,” Jiang Cheng says bluntly. “I think that was the point.”

It’s too horrifying to imagine: coming home after thirteen years, only for Lan Zhan to be dead. She had imagined a hundred things in exile, but never this. Lan Zhan gone. The kitchen empty and cold.

Jiang Cheng looks at her with pity. “Look, you can’t poke around about this, alright? They’ve been replacing everyone these last few years. Even with me and some of the others covering for her, there’s only so much that we can do if someone really wants her gone. You know if the Head Court Lady or Noble Consort Jin decides she’s not fit for work, she’ll be sent away.”

“I know that,” Wei Ying says.

Jiang Cheng looks at her suspiciously. “As long as you’re aware.”

A thought occurs to Wei Ying. “Wait, how long have you been covering for Lan Zhan?”

Jiang Cheng colors. “I would take her over some asshole like Su She any day. At least she can actually do her job.”

“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve said about her in twenty years.”

“Oh shut up and help me move this jar.”

*

Wei Ying manages to catch Lan Zhan leaving her rooms the next morning.

“Aha!” Wei Ying shouts. If she weren’t holding a tray of medicinal soup, she would’ve pointed.

Lan Zhan looks to the side in a decidedly shifty way. Her ears are turning red.

Wei Ying sidles up to her with a grin. “Trying to sneak off to work without your physician’s approval?”

Lan Zhan averts her eyes as Wei Ying ducks and bends into her line of sight. “You…”

“Nope!” Wei Ying says, stepping squarely into Lan Zhan’s path. Despite her exasperation and worry though, she feels cheerful. Lan Zhan is on her feet and being her usual obstinate self. All is right in the world. “In! In! At least let me check your pulse before you go.”

She hustles Lan Zhan inside and sets the table down. To Lan Zhan’s credit, she comes along without a fight. She sits stiffly though.

Wei Ying reaches out to feel Lan Zhan’s forehead and cheeks. Her skin is soft, and warm, and very, very close. To cover up the sudden hammering of her heart, Wei Ying asks, “Are you feeling any better? Mouth dry? Head hurt? Back tender?”

“…Mn.”

Wei Ying rests Lan Zhan’s arm in her lap and pushes up her sleeve to reveal the stretch of pale, perfect skin. She lays her fingers across Lan Zhan’s tender inner wrist. She frowns. “You need more rest.”

Lan Zhan sighs.

“Don’t sigh at me!” Wei Ying scolds. Then she sighs. She really would like Lan Zhan to spend a few more days resting. “Drink your medicine and then you can go.”

Lan Zhan looks at her with surprise, and maybe almost…disappointment?

Wei Ying says crossly, “I don’t want you to get in trouble. And I’ve already talked to Jiang Cheng and the girls. You’re only working breakfast shift so you had better just stand there, let Sizhui do the work, and then come straight back.”

The line of Lan Zhan’s mouth stiffens in disagreement.

Wei Ying coaxes, “If you’re good and come back, I’ll come visit to check on you.”

Lan Zhan picks up her soup. “If I’m not here, you will come to the kitchen anyway,” she says.

Ugh. That is true. “Ah,” Wei Ying threatens. “But there will be consequences!”

“Hm,” says Lan Zhan doubtfully.

But she’s there when Wei Ying comes anyway.

*

Wei Ying is almost afraid to ask how Lan Zhan got by before. Who rubbed ointment on hard to reach scars? Who braided and pinned her hair when she couldn’t lift her arms? Sizhui? Old Lady Lan?

From what Wei Ying can gather, Lan Zhan’s condition really isn’t so bad nowadays, but still. She can’t get the image of Lan Zhan, unresponsive and feverish, out of her mind.

She never could watch Lan Zhan suffer without needing to do something about it.

There’s a clear difference in Lan Zhan before Wei Ying started treating her back, and after. Her posture eases. Her movements are more relaxed. There’s a tenseness in Lan Zhan’s face Wei Ying didn’t even realize was there until it was gone.

She doesn’t know how she could’ve been so blind. Had Lan Zhan been in pain the entire time? How could Wei Ying have just chalked it all up to Lan Zhan being Lan Zhan?

She throws herself into taking care of her. She trades all sorts of stupid favors to keep this particular duty to herself. But despite the fact she isn’t technically doing anything wrong, despite how discreet she’s being for the sake of Lan Zhan’s reputation, Wei Ying still feels like she’s playing with fire.

She covets this closeness with Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan’s expectant face, looking up at her, waiting for Wei Ying to serve her medicine and food. Lan Zhan’s unbound hair, the candlelight and white bedding, like they’re girls again, telling stories in the dark.

They’re never far from her mind these days, the stories. So-and-so’s friend-of-a-friend who was nearly caught in a room alone with a palace guard. Her mother, who had risked everything to run away with her father. Lan Qiren, who had spoken the night Wei Ying and her fellow palace maids had taken their vows. Whose friend had been dishonored by a royal tutor, and for the crime of “betraying” the king, had been force-fed poison and left for dead.

Wei Ying hasn’t thought about that night in years. Now, when she thinks about it, about that poor girl, her heart pounds, her stomach sinks. Was that how Wei Ying had felt that night? Or had she been totally oblivious, preoccupied with her own future, certain she could never face such a trial? When she tries to remember, all she can recall is sneaking a look at Lan Zhan, and the raw emotion laid bare in her eyes.

*

When she’s not with Lan Zhan and not in the kitchens and not working, Wei Ying is at work plotting. As it turns out, Minister Luo has been working on investigating corruption – more specifically, Jin backed corruption.

They spend many an evening at home comparing notes, with Zixuan offering insights into her family and Brother Jiang offering snacks. Wen Ning is there as well, offering her medical expertise and information she picks up from day to day. To Wei Ying’s delight, she had accepted an offer of room and board from Zixuan and Brother Jiang and opened her own little clinic in the capital.

With so many people supporting her, Wei Ying has begun to feel like she might overturn the Wen case after all.

As for the king, the prescribed rest and relaxation has done him well. He’s been spending a plentiful amount of time with Consort Lan, maybe even a little too much, as they discover in early spring, when –

“Not that,” says Xingchen.

Wei Ying stops, one hand in the motherwort drawer. They’re brewing Consort Lan’s medicine. “What?”

“None of that for now,” Xingchen says.

Now everyone in the storeroom is staring. Motherwort is taken for conception, but is harmful to the fetus once someone is with child. If Consort Lan needs to stop taking it then…

Wei Ying swallows. She puts the herb back.

That afternoon, Wei Ying dashes off to the kitchens as soon as she can. A royal pregnancy! One couldn’t help but feel the excitement in the air. She wonders if Lan Zhan knows.

She finds Lan Zhan stirring a pot of porridge, a task completely below her pay grade.

Wei Ying grins as she hops up to her. “Lan Zhan~!”

Lan Zhan’s eyes slide over to her and then slide back to the pot. Her mouth is a thin grim line.

Wei Ying pouts. “Aren’t you happy to see me? I come bearing news, although I suppose you probably already know about it.” Palace gossip spreads like wildfire, and an entire day has passed since the Head Physician called their meeting. She leans in. “Don’t you wanna know if it’s true?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t respond, mouth in a tight line.

Wei Ying wracks her brain. I haven’t done anything to piss her off recently, have I?

She touches Lan Zhan’s shoulder lightly. “Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan’s mouth trembles.

Wei Ying stills. Not looking away from her, Wei Ying says, “A-Ling, come take over for your Court Lady Lan.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Jin Ling protests. She comes over anyway.

Wei Ying takes the spoon and gives it to her. “Just — don’t let it burn, alright?”

Offended at the implication, Jin Ling opens her mouth: “I’m not going to—“

But Wei Ying is already gone, hustling Lan Zhan out, leading her to a little corner in the nearby courtyard. Lan Zhan barely needs to be led. She knows where they’re going; she had dragged Wei Ying by the ear from there for some punishment or another often enough.

Only now does Wei Ying realize that she’s clutching Lan Zhan’s hand. She drops it sheepishly. “Lan Zhan, I’m sorry–”

A warm body collides into hers.

For a moment, Wei Ying braces herself, half expecting Lan Zhan to tackle her into the dirt like they’re children again. But then she realizes, no, Lan Zhan is hugging her.

When Wei Ying places her tentative arms around her, Lan Zhan only buries herself closer, shaking, and Wei Ying understands.

Lan Zhan isn’t mad. She’s terrified. She’s scared her sister will die.

Wei Ying pulls back to cup her face with one hand. “She’s going to be fine.”

Eyes downcast, Lan Zhan says quietly, “That’s what they said last time.”

Even Physician Qin had said it would be a dangerous pregnancy. Wei Ying doesn’t know how to make it better.

Lan Zhan looks at her, question in her eyes. “Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying pulls her back into her arms. “Yes,” she promises. “Yes, I’ll look out for her.”

*

Wei Ying runs into Sizhui on her way out.

Sizhui, delighted: “Senior Wei!”

“You know you don’t have to call me that,” Wei Ying says. “You have higher status than me.”

Sizhui smiles apologetically. “It feels wrong to address you informally though, and you’re older than me. Anyway, I look up to you.”

Agh! This child! Wei Ying shakes her head, trying not to look too pleased. “What are you doing here?” she asks. “Are little kitchen girls even allowed to stray this far from Lady Lan’s skirts?”

“Madam is sending me to work in Consort Lan’s kitchen for the time being,” Sizhui explains.

“What? Isn’t that a downgrade?” Getting moved out of the middle kitchen, the king’s kitchen, would’ve devastated Wei Ying’s younger self. It would’ve devastated Lan Zhan’s younger self too. Did Sizhui commit some serious crime without telling anyone?

Sizhui shrugs. “I don’t mind. Madam would never say so, but she’s worried. If she weren’t head kitchen lady, she would go work there herself.”

Wei Ying nods sagely. “Ah, and having you there is just as good, eh?”

Sizhui blushes. “Senior Wei, of course not!”

Wei Ying laughs. This kid is too pure and too thoughtful, but even if Lan Zhan is worried, isn’t it too harsh to move such a promising young cook to such a position? It will be hard for Sizhui to learn and move forward like this; Wei Ying even heard that they would be holding lectures on advanced topics soon. “Are you sure it’s okay?” she asks. “I’ll talk to Lan Zhan if you’re too hesitant to refuse.”

“No, no! Please don’t misunderstand,” Sizhui says. “Truth be told, I requested this.” She shuffles a little and looks at the ground. “Consort Lan helped raise me when I was very young, and I wanted to help.”

Wei Ying looks at her in surprise. She’d picked up that Sizhui had been raised in Lan Zhan’s room, but she hadn’t know Lan Huan had been involved as well.

Sizhui nods. She rambles a little. “Her Highness had been sent away from the palace then, I was sick, and Lady Lan was,” - a barely there pause - “also sick, so we were sent to stay with her for about three years. It’s because of her care that we were able to recover so well.”

Head spinning at this latest set of revelations, Wei Ying says, “You must be close then.”

“Not so much now,” Sizhui says. “I was very young then, and I don’t remember much. I actually try not to talk too much about it, because I don’t want people to misunderstand.” She touches the back of her neck. “I don’t know why I’m telling you now.”

Wei Ying pats her shoulder. “This one is honored that you feel like you can.”

Sizhui beams at her. “Mn! I don’t know why, but something about you reminds me of Madam. I always feel like I’m safe when I’m with you.”

*

Spring.

With renewed strength and renewed motivation, the king goes out to meet his people. The procession is large; it’s been years since such a thing has happened. The royal pharmacy and royal kitchen both send a delegation along.

Wei Ying knows this trip is for work and not pleasure, but she can’t help her excitement. The country! She bets Lan Zhan has barely left the palace since they were girls. She wants to take Lan Zhan to see the sea. She wants to see the look on her face at the sight of plains of grass stretching on and on and on. She wants to bring Lan Zhan wildflowers, fingers wet and smelling of the earth.

And for a while, she does. Wei Ying spends her days inspecting fingernails and tongues, making smelly poultices and teas, and she spends her evenings watching the stars with Lan Zhan.

Part of her job is noting the conditions of the people.

In the first village — the odd illness of rash and vomiting.

In the second village — more of the same.

But by the third village — nearly everyone is falling ill the same way, including the palace staff who had gone ahead to make preparations.

And then rumors of plague start to fly.

Wei Ying doesn’t understand how things turned out this way. Only a few days ago, she was teasing Lan Zhan, trying to convince her into taking the juniors on an impromptu field trip with her, and now —

Two men haul her roughly across the street. The mob of villagers follow them.

Wei Ying’s feet scramble and slip on something, a fallen basket maybe. The men don’t even falter. “I’m not your enemy,” she tries to say. She had been identified by her uniform. “If you let me go, I can help you.”

“Bullshit!” someone spits at her. “Like the other palace folk helped us?”

The moment a plague had been called, the king had been rushed back to the palace. When the physicians failed to find a cure or cause, the rest of the staff had readied to evacuate.

“She just wants us to let her go so that she can run away!”

Tiredly, Wei Ying says, “If I were going to run, would I still be here?”

The quarantine had begun in the late morning. She had been sent to get medicine from a neighboring town before they left. Xue Yang had told her they were leaving at noon. When she had returned, empty-handed, everyone was gone.

Heavens, she was so stupid! If she hadn’t been so distracted, worrying for Lan Zhan, watching her disappear into the crowd, she would’ve known better than to take Xue Yang at her word and checked.

Predictably, the villagers ignore her.

“Could we ransom her back to the palace for medicines?”

Wei Ying thought that was a little optimistic.

“No,” one of the men holding her says grimly. He casts an almost pitying glance at Wei Ying. “They would rather let their own people die than give in to their lessers.”

Someone says, “A few years ago, some of the villages in the North were burned to keep disease from spreading.”

Voices burst out in outrage and fear.

The other man holding her shakes her. “Is this true?” he demands.

Wei Ying says, “I don’t —“

“I don’t have time for this,” someone snaps. “My wife is still waiting for me to go home with a cure for our son. Just lock her up for now. We can deal with her later.”

“Yeah, yeah!” the crowd agrees. They jostle and froth like a pot boiling over, pushing her towards a house.

Someone opens the door to a dark storehouse.

“Wait,” Wei Ying says. She trips over the steps and falls hard. Coarse straw digs into the meat of her hand. “Wait!”

“Fire!” someone cries.

The crowd freezes.

“Fire?”

“Fire!”

Someone cries, “They’re going to burn us just like the other villages!”

The crowd scatters, some to gather their belongings, some to gather their family.

“Damn palace,” curses the man who’d shaken her. “I’m going to kill her.”

“No!” says the other man, the one who had pitied her. “We need to evacuate the patients.”

Wei Ying’s heart leaps in her throat as she watches him sprint away. The other man goes to follow. And then, he turns for the door.

Wei Ying lunges up and forwards. “No!”

It’s too late. She pounds futilely against the wood, rattling it against the bar locking her in. “Let me out!”

No one comes.

She paces the tiny length of the room, searching for a solution. A pry bar maybe, or some other tool. Dry smoke smell has begun to waft through the air. She needs to get out of here, but how many times has she been here before?

The walls closing her in, the light slanting in between the gaps of wood, the musty air, and the straw covered floor. Throughout her life, she has spent so many hours like this, waiting for people to decide what to do with her. But this time, this is what someone has decided.

It’s getting hot in the room, and the smoke is getting thicker too. Wei Ying starts to cough, her eyes stinging. She needs to get out of here. She needs to, she needs to find…

Her hands pat blindly around the shelves of the room, knocking over baskets of grain, almost empty, as she sinks to the floor, gasping for air.

Does Lan Zhan know she’s been left behind? Does anyone? Does anyone even care? They’ll think she abandoned her post, a dereliction of duty. Will Lan Zhan believe it?

She follows the fresh air to the ground, where it spills like grains of salt, sparingly, under the door. The dirt is cool against her cheek. It won’t be for long.

She won’t call out this time, Wei Ying decides. She won’t call out for anyone that isn’t coming.

Wei Ying is alone.

*

It takes time to mobilize men.

Jiang Cheng had burst into her and Lan Zhan’s room – Lan Zhan had been off doing something with her aunt, so it was just Wei Ying – demanding to know what she had done, saying that the king had collapsed, and that accusations were flying everywhere and that she knows Wei Ying has been up to something, so tell her what’s going on, right now.

Wei Ying had paled, and said, “Wen Qing.”

“What?!”

“I have to go,” Wei Ying said. “I have to go warn them.”

Jiang Cheng, furious: “Wei Ying, what do you mean—? Get back here!”

It takes time to mobilize men. And Wei Ying had been sneaking off to the herb garden for years by that point. She had beaten the royal guards there, but only just.

Not that it had mattered in the end. Wen Qing had refused to run. He wouldn’t abandon his patient, he said, and he would stand by his work to the end. Everyone else had refused to leave him.

They had arrested Wen Qing first, then Wei Ying, and then they had rounded up the rest of the Wens, separated the men from the women, and put them under house arrest.

A-Yuan had cried out for her Brother Qing, struggling out of Wen Ning’s arms, but they were already being hauled apart, taken away to the palace prison to await interrogation. That was the last time Wei Ying saw her. By the time Wei Ying came out of her stupor in the Burial Mounds, A-Yuan had already been lost, left behind somehow in the chaos. Everyone blamed themselves.

The night before their first round of interrogation, Wei Ying had closed her hands around the wooden bars separating her and Wen Qing.

“Listen to me,” she said. “Whatever you do, don’t confess. Pin it all on me.”

Wen Qing stared. “Absolutely not,” he said flatly.

“Lord Wen!” Wei Ying had cried. “You have your family to think about!”

“And what about you?!”

“What?”

“Who will think about you?!” Wen Qing said.

Wei Ying stammered, “I…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that if you’re found guilty, the king will use this to get rid of all of you.”

Wen Qing set his jaw. “It won’t come to that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not guilty,” Wen Qing said steadily. “There’s nothing we gave His Majesty that could’ve caused a reaction like that. The worst we’ve done is violate protocol.”

People die just for challenging protocol, Wei Ying wanted to say, but footsteps began to sound down the hall. A swish of skirts.

She lunged for the bars. “Lan Zhan!” she cried. “Lan Zhan, is that you?”

The footsteps approached. Lan Qiren’s severe face stared down at her.

“Madam, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying pleaded. “Is Lan Zhan okay? Where is she? And Lan Huan?”

“Her Highness has miscarried,” Court Lady Lan said. “We have to wait and see if the queen dowager decides that that is punishment enough for her foolishness.”

“This wasn’t meant to happen,” Wei Ying said. “We were supposed to cure the king. Ask Lan Zhan, she’ll — “

“Silence!” Lan Qiren snapped, sharper than any whip she had ever taken to Wei Ying. Clearly and deliberately, she told Wei Ying, “A-Zhan has nothing to do with this. She doesn’t know anything about your treason.”

Wei Ying said, heart breaking, “Is that what she told you?”

Lan Queen looked her in the eyes and said, “Yes.”

I don’t believe you, Wei Ying wanted to cry. Lan Zhan would never. But — if she can keep Lan Zhan from being touched by this, from joining Wei Ying in the shit and muck, if she can preserve her life and position, then, “Alright,” she said. “I understand.”

Lan Qiren knelt down and covered Wei Ying’s hand with one of her own, liver spotted hands. “Thank you,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”

In the end, Wen Qing had been wrong. They did get to that point: all their evidence gone, all their witnesses unavailable. Between rounds of torture, informants leveled wilder and wilder accusations at them.

So Wei Ying and Wen Qing did come to that, only Wen Qing had shouldered the blame instead.

And then he died.

Truthfully, Wei Ying doesn’t remember much after that. Only watching from her cell as Wen Qing’s body gave out, finally, after hours of strain and going quiet and still. She had screamed herself hoarse, raging against the bars between them, kneeling on her bruised knees. Eventually, she grew quiet and still herself.

She thinks there had been a voice then, frantic and calling for her. In that moment, she’d thought it was her mother. It said —

Wei Ying, Wei Ying!

The world is shaking, a gust of air…

Lan Zhan?

*

“Wei Ying, Wei Ying!”

Someone is shaking her, slapping her face.

“Wei Ying, wake up! Wake up, please!”

Lan Zhan.

A soft noise escapes her throat. The air on her face is cold but fresh. It feels nice. Her throat hurts.

“Wei Ying! Wei Ying, can you hear me?”

She opens her eyes. Lan Zhan’s face comes into focus. They’re outside. The sky is red. It’s sunset.

Wei Ying’s voice comes out thin. “You came back.”

There are tear tracks running through the soot on Lan Zhan’s face. Helplessly, Lan Zhan says, “How could I not?”

Lan Zhan helps her sit upright. She takes both of Wei Ying’s hands and presses them to her face, like she needs the reassurance that Wei Ying is here. She looks terrible.

She’s the most beautiful thing Wei Ying has ever seen.

Oh, Wei Ying thinks. She wiggles her fingers free to comb back the wisps of hair clinging to Lan Zhan’s face. “You came back,” she says wonderingly. “For me?”

Eyes rimmed in red, Lan Zhan nods.

Wei Ying throws herself at her. Her shaking arms knock into Lan Zhan’s hair piece as she flings her arms around her neck. “Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan. Thank you,” she says, clinging desperately. Lan Zhan’s collar grows wet beneath her face. “Thank you. Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.”

Lan Zhan hugs her back just as desperately. “Never. Never.”

*

Later, when the plague is quelled and resolved, they sit together on the steps of Lan Zhan’s residence. Tea in hand, they watch as the sun slips beneath the palace eaves.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says.

Lan Zhan tilts her face towards her. “Hm?”

Like she’s trying out the words in her mouth: “You love me.”

Lan Zhan tenses, but tries not to show it. Stiffly, because she’s afraid, she nods.

Wei Ying smiles. She’s flying. Despite everything, Wei Ying is as free as she’s ever been. She says, “I love you too.”