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It was already midwinter. My birthday had been three days before. It was the first one where I didn’t have Hisato beside me to share it. I didn’t have any of my family with me. Nor did I have a friend to stop and say a blessing, or tangerines with heavy cream and a heavy, honey bread.
Selfishly, I chose to stay in my warm room that entire day.
Yua had shown me how to put on the fine dress that Lord Kwan gave me. I’d never worn anything so beautiful, or in so many layers. Thankfully, there was a trick to it, and I didn’t need to tie too many things. I especially adored how it flowed and trailed behind me as I walked. And, not wanting to be stared at, I would go between the walls to run and watch how prettily the layers flew behind me.
I’d also been given a night gown that was easy enough to put on and figure out on my own. Crisp, white silk. It felt good against my skin. Often, I brushed my fingers down the length as I wore it, admiring the texture.
A pair of wood sandal were given to me as well, to keep my feet out of the mud. I wore them when I changed into my old clothes to work. I didn’t want to ruin such a fine gift. But always, I would hurry to get the few chores done so I could clean up and wear my dress.
There were tiny, delicate patterns embroidered in. Flowers. All different kinds, most prominently displayed along the hems of any piece. It looked like something a princess would wear. And for the first time, since I was a little girl, I felt beautiful. I never looked at myself in the mirror though, fearful that it’d break my illusion.
Syaoran made the comment once, the first time that he saw me in it.
“You look like a real lady, now.” And though I knew he meant to compliment me, and his expression and voice were the kindliness I’d grown used to from him, I felt so exposed.
I shied, retreating into myself. “I’m not...” I became more aware of how unsightly my hair was in its slow growth back, of the scars on my face, my rough hands and small figure. The only womanly thing about me being a curved waist that was concealed by the beautiful clothing.
He’d come back that following eve with a pair of black slippers, embroidered at the seams the same as my dress, saying that the only thing missing from me bring a lady was the right shoes. He was the kindest of friends, mentioning that he guessed his sister’s size would match my own. He was right. They were a little loose, like the dress, but I was still growing.
This deep into winter, the snow had piled too high for me to go out the secret door. Most of my time outside my room was spent walking anywhere it was clear. Some days I spent hours in the stable, brushing out Saburo’s coat or sitting in his paddock with him. On several occasions, the stable master took him out for exercise, and I’d watched from the sidelines. But now the snow was too deep for him to flex his proud muscles.
Lord Kwan had gone off again. A part of me worried he might return changed like before. If that did happen, what should I do? Yua warned about the danger of staying with him like I’d done. Syaoran seemed impressed by it.
As I thought about it, remembering, I couldn’t help but feel staying was the right choice that time. Maybe not always though. I didn’t feel brave in the moment, and I wasn’t sure I could summon up the courage to be there on purpose.
I walked the veranda in thought, past rooms where several spirits gathered to share drinks and supper. The winter solstice already passed; I’d wondered before if the spirits honored it the same way as humans, all coming into the same house and sharing in the dried and smoked fruits, and treats the women made? Did they tie strips of red ribbons on bamboo ropes that stretched from one roof to the next? Were there any songs or dances? Did they make snow art and place lanterns into patterns to bring light until morning? Did they try to stay up so they could see the sunrise?
But it’d been such a quiet event.
I stopped when I noticed how full and bright the moon was that night. It bathed the slumbering, snow filled gardens in a ghostly light. Everything looked haunted and still and beautiful. I stared, about to sit down when I remembered my drawing book. It was almost completely filled, but I knew I had two or three pages that were blank. I wanted to try and draw it. The way the shadows looked.
With my book and charcoal in hand, I searched for what felt like the perfect spot for an imperfect artist. I found it. Not too far from Lord Kwan’s room, on a corner spot of the veranda. I sat there, keeping a light touch of the charcoal against the page. Careful as I was, it barely looked anything like what my eyes saw right in front of me.
That was alright. After five years, I’d have it to remind me of how beautiful a sight this was. It didn’t have to look perfect to make me remember.
I started again, trying different strokes, smaller, to see if it helped improve at all.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Lord Kwan.
I gasped, going rigid and pulling my drawing close to my chest to hide it. The initial surprise lasted only a second, then my muscles freed enough for me to look over my shoulder and up. He wasn’t raging or feral or tiger-like at all. His face was his own, that hint of a smile softening his stony expression, rather than a snarl and the start of a snout. His hands were like a man’s, not clawed and red. There were no stripes or texture of fur. He was himself and only himself; if not a bit more tired and dirty.
The sight brought relief.
“Aren’t you cold?”
I folded back my drawing book to close, holding it tight against me as a stood. “A little. But it was so pretty in the moonlight that I wanted to look at it longer.”
He grunted, leaving me unsure of whether or not he approved.
“You’re not hurt?” I asked. It sounded weird, though I didn’t know how to phrase my asking after him.
“Not badly,” said Lord Kwan. “Fetch me some barely tea.”
“Oh,” I looked from him, to the route, to my book and back in quick succession. “Yes, my lord.”
He offered out his hand. I blinked, needed a moment to understand the silent ask of my book. From instinct, I held it more tightly and shook my head.
“Let me see that.”
Again, I shook my head, shutting my eyes.
“I could command you to.”
I sucked in a deep gasp, bringing my head back up slowly to meet his eyes. “It’s just a drawing book, my lord. And none of them are particularly good.”
He studied me a moment. “You don’t want me to see them?”
I shook my head. “They’re not any good, my lord.”
“Shouldn’t I be the judge of the quality?”
I looked away, trying to come up with some excuse.
“Then, I will give my word not to glance at them. Until you’re ready.” He kept his palm up.
I was reluctant. He’d given his word, and I had no reason not to trust that he’d keep to it. He was strange that way. Over time, it seemed like he’d made more lenient decisions, lessening the harshness I was originally met with. If he said he wouldn’t look, then I believed him.
Slow, I released my drawings to his care.
“Bring the tea ready to my room,” said Lord Kwan, an ease in his voice. With the instruction given, he walked to the entry of his quarters.
“Yes, my lord,” I said, bowing my head slightly and hurrying off to take care of the task.
I did exactly as I was bid, finding the barely tea in the stores of the tea house and brewing it to bring back. A bronze kettle to boil it up, I took it with a clothed hand when it was ready. Hasty, with care, I went to Lord Kwan’s room.
I called, announcing myself.
He made no answer.
A part of me worried he played down any injury he brought home, and lay collapsed on the ground in need of help. I set down the kettle and slid the paper paned door to peer inside. A small antechamber and second set of doors. Perhaps he simply didn’t hear me.
I went in, bringing the kettle and setting it down to close the doors once more. I thought better than to take my wooden sandals in, and slipped them off before repeating my previous motions. When he didn’t answer this time, my fear for him intensified.
“Lord Kwan?” I set down the kettle again, sliding open the doors enough to look inside.
He wasn’t on the ground, but in the midst of redressing. His long, silken, black hair pulled forward, I saw the toned muscles of his back. My cheeks flared in a rosy heat, my eyes went wide and my spine stiff. I closed the doors right away, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
I waited, touching at my face and making a silent plea that I wouldn’t look so pink when he asked me in. I didn’t want to confess I’d seen him in such a state. Not only for my own embarrassment, but so that I didn’t irritate him and ruin the good graces he’d bestowed to me.
When at last he called me, I tried to empty my head of the image and rein myself in. I opened the doors with a bit more grace, fully this time.
“Close it behind you,” said Lord Kwan. He waited at his table, a teapot and two cups set.
I obeyed, trying to seem dignified like the women who served the house. Bringing the kettle to him, he opened the lid of the teapot. On his cue, I poured in. It was only a small teapot, and I was sure I would stop soon after I started. Careful, so as to not spill the hot contents, I tipped it to pour. And pour. And pour. Until it was emptied. I didn’t understand how, though this time I didn’t bother to ask. This was a house of a Juneun. Was it so surprising that a teapot would have some kind of magic to it?
That hint of a smile remained on his face. I set aside the kettle, about to serve when he’d already done it. One of the tea cups was placed in front of me, and he poured in the hot beverage.
Taking mine, I noticed our hands side by side rather than my own hidden under his grasp, how dark my skin still was compared to him. I spent my life outdoors, helping in the fields and playing when I had the time. Even here I toiled in the sun to pay off the debt owed. I would never be like the porcelain ladies painted on the vases and hanging scrolls. The servant women here were just as fair, and I hadn’t thought much about it until I was alone with him.
After he set the pot back down, he finally spoke.
“I want you in my company any time I return from elsewhere.”
“Me, my lord?”
He sipped, and I took it as my cue to do the same.
“That will be your only chore from now on.”
My only chore? No more cleaning or laboring or fetching of things? But, why? Was there some trick? Something I wasn’t aware of?
“I feel calm around you. So, when I return from anywhere, I want you to be beside me. Like we are now.”
I furrowed my brow, staring at him while my fingers drank in the warmth of the cup. “Why? Wouldn’t Yua or Syaoran make for better company? I’m only a human prisoner.”
He grunted, taking his time to meet my eye. “You don’t ask anything of me. Not since we first met. That’s what I want.” He sighed, almost silent. “Syaoran and Yua mean well. But the last thing I want is a barrage of questions and recounting of things. I want my return to be like this. The company, and nothing more.”
I looked away as I considered it. “I’m grateful for the kindness you’ve shown me, my lord. But I am still just a prisoner. I have no right to ask anything of you.”
He stayed silent a long while, likely mulling over the logic. We took our drinks in the wordlessness. After refilling, he spoke again.
“When you stayed with me that night. What did you speak about?”
I stopped mid sip, blinking at him.
“I wasn’t aware of much that went on.” His voice lost some of its initial softness. “In the moments I started to remember myself, I saw you there. Just sitting there. Speaking to me calmly. What did you say in all that time?”
I sipped, thinking how best to answer. “I talked about my village, my lord. About life there. And my family and friends.”
He stared at me. A long and silent stare.
Uncomfortable, I looked to my drink, sipping at leisure and basking in the heat that went down my throat to my stomach.
“Will you tell me now?”
“Tell what, my lord?”
“About your village.”
A fluttering feeling coursed through my gut. “I don’t think it would interest you, my lord. I only went on about it then because I didn’t know what else to do.”
He placed an elbow on the table, resting the side of his chin in his hand and put the full of his attention on me. “Tell me anyway.”
I smiled.
Less frightened than I was that night, I talked about winter in my village, how my brothers would lay traps for birds and small animals to bring home to cook. I admitted to how lackluster my skill was, and my determination to improve as more things were brought home.
When I began to tire, Lord Kwan didn’t pry for more. He dismissed our company, allowing me to go to my room.
“The winters can be long this high into the mountain,” said Lord Kwan.
I stopped in the doorway, looking back to him.
“If it’s of interest to you, I will teach you to read and write.”
My face lit up.
That hint of a smile flexed before I could answer. “I take it the idea is exciting.”
“It’s been a dream for so many of us, my lord, to learn to read and go to a school.”
He watched me, never eager to respond. “Come here midday tomorrow. We can start then.”
I felt like I could leap to the moon in that moment, and thanked him before leaving.
Though, as I lay in bed, I found I was too excited to sleep. I would learn to read and to write. And if I could master it while I was here, then I could teach it to my brothers when I returned home. I could teach it to the entire village maybe. A merchant wouldn’t try to cheat any of us, or make us believe the value of something being less or greater than it was if we could understand it all. Perhaps one of the younger men would become bold with the skill, and go to the city for school. How changed our lives would be.