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I worked hard to be a diligent student. My sleeve tied back to prevent it from touching the wet ink as I practiced, it was different from drawing with a charcoal but not too difficult. I caught myself sticking my tongue out and up as I focused, trying to make each brush stroke perfect. Lord Kwan said not a thing about it. He was a patient teacher, encouraging my efforts.
“Why do you keep that toy in your room?” asked Lord Kwan.
In our few hours a day of tutelage, it wasn’t uncommon for him to ask something from seemingly nowhere.
I looked up from my sloppy penmanship. “My rabbit?”
He nodded.
“My mother made it for me when I was a baby, and starting to walk. She made one for my brother Hisato as well.”
“And your other brothers?”
“No. When they were babies, she made them something different. A ram for Kenta, and a panda for Raeden.”
“And they still have those toys?”
I shook my head. “Kenta accidentally dropped his in the river when he was little, and it was swept away before Baba could catch it. And Chocho, the village dog got a hold of Raeden’s when he was still a puppy and didn’t know any better.”
He took in the story, relaxed in his posture, and moved to cut an odd-looking fruit. His small knife sliced into it expertly in his palm. Then he offered me a piece. I looked at the red and yellow skin and the white interior of it.
“It’s called an apple,” said Lord Kwan. “It grows in a faraway land, and harvested in autumn. The weather is cold enough here to keep them fresh a little while longer. I don’t have many left from this year.”
I accepted the offer, taking the smallest bite to test it. A little crisp, but fast crumbling in my mouth, it tasted sweet and a little tart. Curious, I took a bigger bite.
“Do you like it?”
“Very much,” I said. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Not many in my house feel the same. They’re suspicious of foreign things.”
“But, why?”
“Often, something different means change will follow. It is never certain if change will bring prosperity, or devastation. It takes time for new to become accepted. Like the bathhouse I had built.”
“Bathhouse?”
He paused his cutting to look at me. “You haven’t seen it?”
I gave one shake of my head, intrigued.
“Ask Yua to show you. A hot soak does wonders.”
****
The following afternoon, my curiosity became too much. I asked Yua about using the bathhouse. With great reluctance, she led me to it. A small building, I’d passed it a thousand times before but never knew what it was or what was inside. She had me light the furnace first, and we came back to it a short while after. Inside, a large, stone tub sat at the far end, wide enough to fit an entire family. She showed me the lever beside it, and pulled. A steady stream of water spilled into the tub, slowly filling it.
“The lever sticks sometimes if it’s too cold,” said Yua. “The water comes from a line that leads from the river higher up, down to here. And the fire heats it. When the tub is full, put the lever back to its original position.”
I watched the working of it, awestruck. “Does the lever get stuck going back?”
“Not often,” said Yua with a shrug.
She might not have found this impressive, but I certainly did. In the village, we didn’t have time to heat up a large tub and soak in it leisurely. It wasn’t something any of us considered. And in winter, it would drain away precious supplies we’d stocked up in autumn.
“When you’re finished, pull out that stopper from the bottom.”
“Stopper?”
She pointed. “Pull that out and the water will drain into another line that leads back into the river further down.”
“Amazing,” I said.
“Yes, well, I think it’s a waste. But it’s become in fashion for the high lords among the Juneun to have them.”
“Why don’t you like it?” I asked, absentminded.
“It’s too large and time consuming. I prefer the privacy of my room.”
“In the village, all the women would go to the river together to bathe, and the men further down the way.”
Yua scoffed, disinterested. “I’ll leave you to it.” She left, and the bathhouse fell silent except for the flow of water to the tub.
It was half full when I put the lever back. Reaching down, it was warm, and felt like it’d grow warmer still. I straightened, hesitating at first, and undressed. My skin prickled in the air. Oddly, it felt satisfying. I folded my things and set them neatly aside, then went to step in. Hot. A little too hot.
Putting my strength into it, I pulled the lever down, waiting as long as I dared before trying again. Not quite full, I couldn’t stand it anymore and stopped the waterflow. Stepping in, it felt warm. I submerged, sitting quiet as the temperature slowly climbed and turned the water a relaxing kind of hot.
It was strange. All I did was sit there in the warmth. But it felt good to do so. I held my breath, sinking below the surface. The heat soothed me, coaxing me to stay as long as my lungs would allow. Coming up again, my hair clung to the top of my neck and forehead, and uncomfortably behind my ears.
My body absorbed the warmth. My lungs took in the steam. My eyes began to relax, almost to the point of sleep. And I hummed quiet songs in the cozy solitude. I couldn’t make myself completely free of anxious thoughts. Some part of me scrutinized, a dozen suggestions of things I ought to be doing. But Lord Kwan had ordered only one task of me. A task that wasn’t needed today.
I should be practicing, I thought. Improve my writing to look neat and tidy, clean like Lord Kwan’s. And I ought to work on my drawing skill. A good enough drawing might get a small exchange with the merchants. I wondered if there was a place to learn to make pottery here. If I knew how to do that, I could make jars to preserve stock for winter, in such abundance that it could be shared out—we’d all be fat come the following spring.
So many things competing in my mind, but I didn’t have the will to leave the bath. Not yet.
My fingers and toes became pruney, prompting me to get out. I waded to the other side of the tub, looking for the stopper that Yua indicated to me earlier. I couldn’t reach it without dunking my head beneath the water. It slipped from me in my first try. In my second try, it was sucked back in. I had to come up for air. In my third try, I held tight and brought it out of the water as the bath drained.
Slowly, my body came in contact with the air, prickling as it breathed again. My short hair dripped dry as I waited. With the water completely gone, I replaced the stopper and stepped out. A stretch of folded cloth sat on a shelf near where I’d set my dress. Silk, though not nearly as soft as the clothing I’d been gifted; still, I enjoyed the feel of it around me. Droplets leapt into the fabric from my skin, leaving me comfortably dry.
I put on my silk shirt first, and the accompanying jacket over it. My under trousers next, tying it to sit atop my hips without it feeling too snug. Next came the trickiest part: My sheer skirt raised to just an inch beneath my armpits and tied to keep it in place while I adjusted my bouses—now half hidden beneath it—for comfort and an even look, then I retied the sheer skirt to better secure it. Last came the over skirt and its beautiful pastel layers and embroidered hem. It needed to sit just barely over the sheer skirt, then I could bring around the soft twine to tie off at the front. My knot making wasn’t as perfect looking as the women of the house, though I was still relatively new to it and hoped I’d improve with time.
Not that it mattered. After my five years, I’d likely never wear anything so fine again. It wasn’t the type of thing I could farm or clean in, never mind walking through the mountains to gather fruit. I would probably put it away until special days, like my mother.
Remembering how I’d sold the only fine dress she’d ever owned, a selfish worry came into my head. If we went into another dire year, I might be forced to sell this one as well. I didn’t want to—I didn’t want to even think about it! Lord Kwan gave me this dress, and it was the only pretty possession I ever had.
Catching my thoughts, I scolded myself. I’d have no choice if hard times came again. It was selfish of me to be so attached.
****
Several more times, and into the spring, Lord Kwan went away. Without him, I continued to work on my writing, practicing over and over. The first thing I wanted to master was my name, and Hisato’s since it wasn’t too dissimilar. The second thing I wanted to master was Lord Kwan’s name. I wanted it to be perfect, so that I could thank him in writing.
During the time he was gone, I would try and stay up as long as I could, busying myself as I waited for him. I had one task that he commanded me, and I would see it through promptly.
Sometimes we said nothing for long periods. Mostly, he would ask about my life. On occasion, he would share something of his own experiences. I learned not to be so meek around him, gradually getting used to his way of things, and always looking for that hint of a smile on his face. Actually, I began to enjoy and even look forward to when I could carry out the task of taking his company. Perhaps we would grow into friends over these five years.
I daydreamed about it sometimes. About helping to care for my future nieces and nephews, and telling them stories about my Juneun friend in the mountain. I imagined coming up again once in a while, just to be in his company, even as I grew old. He wouldn’t grow old though. He was a divine spirit and would look timeless for centuries to come.
In midspring, the abandoned part of the farthest yard was cleaned up. The shed taken down to rebuild later, when supplies arrived, it looked more spacious and inviting. The bench was reclaimed and restored, making it the perfect place to be when the sun shone too brightly. A little further back, a small shrine was uncovered. I didn’t know for what reason a shrine would be there, but it was beautiful to simply look at.
On a pleasant day, I took my new drawing book with me between the walls, to the place that sank and butterflies gathered. Few at first, but more came every day. I sat in the shade, trying to capture their likeness with my charcoal.
Once in a while, my hand reflexively stopped to swat behind my neck. At pestering insects, but also from my hair tickling back there. I wasn’t used to the feeling. It seemed like it started to grow faster in the second half of winter. I noticed I was a little more filled out myself.
A quick something whizzed by in the distance, causing me to jump and squint in that direction. I didn’t see anything, about to resume my sketching when I heard it again from a different direction. Looking that way, I still didn’t see anything. Then I heard it again elsewhere.
On my feet, I held the book close and whipped my head around to search out the source of the noise. I kept hearing it, but from where I didn’t know. Making to bolt I stopped before I could take my first step, my scream caught in my throat and my eyes wide.
A beautiful girl with pale skin, long, shiny, black hair, and snake’s eyes was right there, staring at me. Dressed in beautiful silks, the lower half of her body was that of a serpent that stretched far into the grass behind her.
“You’re a human,” said the girl. “What is a human doing here?”
“I’m,” I swallowed hard, my saliva thick, as I tried to steady my voice and prevent it from cracking. “I’m Lord Kwan’s prisoner.”
“You don’t look like a prisoner to me,” said the girl, leaning this way and that, and using her snake body to stand taller over me. “Are you sure?”
“For another four and a half years, yes,” I said.
“I guess that’d be a silly thing to lie about. Does he keep other prisoner between the walls now as well?”
I shook my head, clinging to my book.
“What happened to your hair?” asked the girl, leaning in close. “Where did you get those scars? And what’s wrong with your teeth? Why is that one crooked?”
In my panic, and feeling cornered, I tried anything to distract. “Are you a Kurai?”
She brough herself back down, leaning away with her hands clutching her arms as her face soured. She stuck out her tongue, grimacing and making a disgusted sound. “Never! I’m Feng of the Sho family.”
I calmed, watching her animated reaction. “Then, you’re a Juneun?”
She nodded. “And Lord Kwan’s future bride.”
I repeated the title, and smiled. “That’s wonderful! Lord Kwan is a kind and powerful spirit. I’m sure you must be the same way if he picked you for his bride. When will you marry?”
A look of discomfort consumed her. “Well, he hasn’t said yet. But I’m sure he’ll make all the announcements soon.”
I nodded. I didn’t know how nobles carried out wedding planning, though something told me it was probably far more complicated than how we did in the village.
She composed herself again. “So, what were you doing out here, human prisoner girl?”
I suddenly felt uncomfortable. I technically wasn’t supposed to be here at all. “I...”
“Yes?” she leaned in slightly.
“I came to look at the butterflies. They like to gather around this spot.”
A bright smile came over her face. “They do. That’s why I like to stay under these trees. I was asleep, and when I woke up, I saw you looking suspicious.”
“Suspicious?”
“But if all you’re doing is watching the butterflies, I think that’s okay.”
I stared, transfixed by how friendly this spirit was from the start of our meeting, and how beautiful she looked. In the swaying sunlight, as the breeze shifted the younger branches above, she was more beautiful than Fumei, more than Yua, more than anyone else I’d ever met. And she was not cruel.
I held to my smile, thinking how she’d make a good wife to Lord Kwan. She had so much expression to her, while he stayed stoic. But both were kind at heart.
“What’s that you’re holding?”
“Oh,” I broke from my thoughts. “It’s the drawing book Syaoran gave me. The new one at least.”
“Let me see,” she said, a laugh in her voice as she snatched it.
On instinct, I tried to take it back. She rose on her snake body, too high for me to reach.
“No! Please, give it back!”
She flipped through them, ignoring me. “They’re not very good. But you did say you were a prisoner and not an artist.”
Perhaps I was wrong to assume she wasn’t cruel.
Lowering herself again, she handed back my book, gentle.
I snatched it to hold close.
“But I had a teacher to show me how to do things properly. I suppose most humans aren’t as fortunate.”
I said nothing, retreating into myself. My mother taught me to always be aware of snakes on the ground or in the trees when I went into the mountains, but I was woefully unprepared for what to do with a snake Juneun.
“Aren’t you going to answer any of my other questions, prisoner girl?”
I shook my head, taking a step back.
She frowned. “Why not?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I ran for the secret door, wanting to hide. I knew I probably shouldn’t have. It was rude, and this was Lord Kwan’s intended. My emotions got the better of me, continuing to do so as I crouched behind the shrubs inside the wall and against the little door. Tears rolled off my cheeks, and sobs escaped me. I knew I wasn’t beautiful, or skilled at my art, but it still hurt to hear someone point out every imperfection.
I stayed in place, trying to bring myself under control. It took a while. The words cut deeper than I ever expected. I had to remind myself that I swore never to let anyone see me cry while I was a prisoner—to never let them know they hurt me. I needed to hurry in calming down. I didn’t want to look so pathetic if Lord Kwan returned today. Not after he explained why he wanted me to go to him on every return, and made it my only task.