by Ameriie
Grouch the toad croaked from the pond, deep and satisfied, the noise carrying to her on a soft breeze. Birds hidden overhead twittered and argued. Mei Feng leaned back, releasing a long breath, letting her arms rest heavy at her sides. She was never alone, but at least she was not being presented or observed for a small time—she treasured these rare moments of peace.
A hush blanketed the garden, so subtle that she didn’t notice at first. But suddenly, the sounds of the courtyard had fallen away until even the rustling of leaves had disappeared. Mei Feng froze, the flesh on her arms pimpling. Where had her handmaids gone? Searching the tranquil surroundings with a sweeping glance revealed nothing. The two girls were nowhere to be seen. Ripple was prone to playing jokes, and Mei Feng almost rose, determined to find the errant handmaids, when the appearance of a figure farther down a stone-paved path stopped her.
A young man approached—a stranger—and her pulse quickened. Mei Feng clutched her skirt between damp fingers, not knowing what to do. The Jia estate was immense, and she resided within the inner quarters, where men were not allowed. As an unwed girl, she was meant to be safe here, sequestered, hidden away from prying eyes.
“Ripple?” Mei Feng called out, hoping the handmaid would appear from behind a tree trunk, or from where she had been crouched behind the rocks. “Orchid?”
“They are dozing for a while,” the stranger said. He climbed the steps of the pavilion, stopping at the entrance.
“Dozing?” she whispered.
He smiled at her and bowed formally, elegant and assured. “Do not worry for them.”
“Who are you?” she asked.
The young man looked to be eighteen or nineteen years, dressed in a long deep blue robe, his black hair pulled back in a topknot. At seventeen years old, Mei Feng had only ever met a handful of young men, all family—cousins or uncles. She had not seen many of them, but she knew that this young man was very handsome, with a glow about him that seemed as if he were lit from within.
Without so much as asking, he settled beside her on the stone bench. Shocked, she sidled away from him, filled with both fear and fascination. Inexplicably, the air seemed to waver around them, and for a brief moment, Mei Feng thought she heard the distant roar of the sea, tasted the tang of ocean mist on her lips.
“You can call me Hai Xin,” he said. His voice was warm and pleasant, filling the unseen recesses of her mind and her heart.
“Hai Xin,” she repeated, somehow finding the words, enveloped in his charm. “ ‘Hai’ for the sea, but which character for ‘Xin’? Does it stand for ‘star’ or ‘heart’?”
Smiling, he brushed the back of her knuckles with his fingertips, sending a pleasant shock through her body. It had been unexpected and unacceptable. No man had ever touched her before, much less so intimately. But when he carefully drew her fingers open, one by one, then covered her palm with his own, she didn’t resist. “You are as intelligent and curious,” he said, “as you are beautiful, I see.”
Mei Feng’s breath hitched in her chest. She knew she should leave, but she felt entranced—seduced by the warmth of his hand against her skin. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer for a long moment, concentrating on her hand, sweeping his thumb in slow circles over her open palm, then tracing an index finger across her inner wrist until she shivered, flustered by the tangle of unfamiliar sensations assailing her. “I come,” he said, “because I heard that you are the most beautiful maiden in An Ning Province.” His fingertips trailed up her inner forearm. “The rumors were not exaggerated.”
She should have snatched her arm away, screamed for help, but she felt curiously docile; all her attention—her entire being—was focused on where Hai Xin’s skin touched hers. “Oh . . .” She swallowed, staring at his hand caressing her arm. It was a beautiful hand, strangely perfect, well manicured and strong. The hand of a noble? Or a well-known scholar?
Hai Xin gave a small tug, and she shifted, facing him on the bench. He cupped her face briefly. Then his fingers were stroking the nape of her neck. Mei Feng’s head tilted back; her eyes closed. Her mind had been bled blank, as if someone had carried all her thoughts away. Nothing existed in this world except for Hai Xin’s touch. His lips brushed against her earlobe, his breath warm and sweet, and she trembled with pleasure.
Suddenly, the atmosphere changed, and he pulled away, breaking their embrace. She felt robbed of his touch, aching, as the sounds of the world came crashing through.
“Mei Feng,” her mother called. “Where are you?” Lady Jia’s wooden heels clacked against the cobbled path.
“Interrupted,” Hai Xin said. “Regrettably.” He lifted her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles; everything felt right again—his supple mouth against her flesh. “Next time, then,” he said, and rose. Hai Xin glided down the pavilion steps just as her mother rounded the corner.
Mei Feng’s mouth had gone dry, her heart battering an unsteady beat against her chest. Her breaths came fast: erratic and shallow. Her mother would scream now, call for the sentries who guarded their home. Instead, she said nothing as Hai Xin strolled past Lady Jia down the same garden path. Mei Feng swore she saw his blue robe sleeve brush against her mother’s bare arm, but Lady Jia acted as if she did not see him—acted as if Hai Xin did not exist at all.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Mei Feng didn’t know if she was frightened or relieved.
“Daughter,” her mother exclaimed. “Why are you hiding here? It’s time for the midday meal.”
Only three days passed before Hai Xin appeared again, this time in Mei Feng’s bedchamber.
She had lived those days in between in a daze, wondering if she had hallucinated the episode, wondering if she was somehow going mad. Her thoughts had dulled, heavy and sluggish, but her flesh had come alive, sensitive, tender. Mei Feng went about the rituals of each day, having her hair brushed and arranged by Ripple, drawing on her cool underclothing and silk skirt as if she were in a trance. Her body tingled, pinpricks of anticipation dancing across her skin, longing to be touched again.
Fear and caution lurked in some dark corner of her mind, caged and muted. She knew Hai Xin—this strange, seductive man—was dangerous. But it was a distant concern, a problem she knew she could not solve. Better not to dwell upon it.
She was lying in bed, her hair spread like a fan over her brocaded cushion, when Mei Feng felt his presence. Hai Xin’s silhouette appeared behind the finespun gauze of her bed curtains. He exuded power . . . and desire. His hunger for her was tangible. It gripped her heart like a vise, tightening her throat. She tried to lurch away from him but lay like stone upon the platform bed, unable to move. Hai Xin had used his sorcery, immobilizing her. There was no escape, nowhere to hide.
He slipped beneath the silk sheet like a whisper, hot hands twined in her loose hair within a breath. Only a husband was allowed to see a woman’s hair unbound; only a husband had the privilege to touch it. He pressed himself against her, whispering into her ear, promising wedded bliss and beautiful children, promising paradise. His lips and fingertips roamed across her throat, over her abdomen, brushed against her breasts. She gasped with pleasure, even as the fear in the deep recesses of her mind expanded, screamed in warning.
“You taste as sweet as you look, beautiful girl,” Hai Xin murmured against her hair.
“One of your greatest assets is your beauty, daughter,” her mother had told her, over and over again.
“Our brood will be stunning,” he said, then kissed her so deep and long she couldn’t breathe.
Mei Feng felt his excitement. She remembered all those line drawings she had pored over endlessly in The Book of Making, tutored by her mother. She willed her arms to move, to shove him off, but her body betrayed her.
A door panel slid aside, and Orchid’s voice broke the oppressive silence that had wrapped the bedchamber. There had been no other sounds except for Hai Xin’s beguiling words between his kisses and the roar of her heartbeat within her ears.<
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“Mistress?” Orchid called out in her lilting voice. “I’ve come to douse your lanterns.”
Light, slippered feet crossed the reception hall toward the bedchamber.
In an instant, Hai Xin vanished, as if he had never been there at all.
The only indications of his presence were the lingering heat of his touch against her feverish skin and the tang of salt in the air—a whiff of the sea.
“Your virginity is the one virtue more valuable than your beauty,” her mother had also repeated time and again. “The emperor expects his brides to be presented to him untouched, pure. Don’t ruin it by dabbling with some stupid boy.”
Thank the goddess for Orchid’s arrival, Mei Feng thought as she feigned sleep. It had not gone that far.
She clutched the crumpled sheet over her chest with shaking arms, finally able to move her limbs again, and did not let the tears slide down her face until the handmaid had retreated from the bedchamber, leaving her in darkness.
Nowhere was safe.
Mei Feng knew that if she kept her handmaids close at all times, they could be magically lured away. She knew that if she locked herself in her bedchamber, or even the stone cellar beneath the manor’s large kitchen, Hai Xin would still find her. She had no inkling who she was up against, except that he was no ordinary man.
Lighting incense each morning, she prayed to the Goddess of Purity for strength and safety. The goddess was known as the virgin and symbolized wisdom and peace. Girls often sought her guidance in matters of the heart and marriage, and prayed to her for protection. Mei Feng beseeched to be shown some way to escape or defeat Hai Xin. She was certain he was some monster or demon disguised as a handsome young man. She spoke to no one about her troubles.
Four days after Hai Xin had come to her in the bedchamber, an excited Orchid dashed into the main hall, where Mei Feng was taking tea with her mother. Ripple ran right at the other handmaid’s heels.
“Lady Jia, Lady Jia!” Orchid exclaimed, out of breath. “A message! A royal message sent from the imperial palace!” She proffered the gold tube, ornately etched with a deep green dragon bearing five claws on each foot, a symbol only the emperor could use. Her mother sprang up, snatching the tube from the handmaid.
The two girls shuffled backward but did not leave the hall.
Her mother opened the tube and retrieved the rolled message. Mei Feng could see the dark sweep of calligraphy across the rice paper and the deep red ink of the imperial seal in several places on the page. Lady Jia read with care, then read again. She lifted her glowing eyes and said, “Dear daughter, you are to be wed to the emperor. You will be an imperial consort. The gods and goddesses have smiled down on our family.”
Her mother swept across the stone floor and clasped Mei Feng to her as the two handmaids thrust their faces into their palms and wept for joy. Mei Feng would need to take servants with her to the palace, so the two girls’ fates had been altered drastically, too, with one royal decree.
Lady Jia released her and touched Mei Feng’s cheek. She winced, remembering Hai Xin’s uninvited touch, stoking desire on her body while instilling fear in her soul. But her mother didn’t notice that she had recoiled. “A royal envoy will arrive in three days to escort you to the palace.” Lady Jia turned to the handmaids, waving them off with her elegant hands. “Don’t just stand there, mewling. We must get ready!”
The two girls dashed off, chattering, their words tumbling over each other. Her mother glided down the main hall steps, likely with a hundred tasks to delegate before Mei Feng’s leave-taking.
She was left alone standing in the middle of the empty main hall, clutching her arms around herself.
The Jia manor was caught in a chaos of activity in the days following, before the royal envoy’s arrival. Mei Feng was thrust along by the frenetic activity, like a blossom dropped into a river and propelled on a strong current. She was led from one place to the next and nodded in acquiescence often, as her mother arranged for everything to be ready before she left home.
Things were so rushed and hectic Mei Feng never had a quiet moment to herself, or with her parents, to say a private farewell. Instead, when the royal envoy arrived with a grand carriage drawn by six magnificent black horses, followed by a procession of imperial guards carrying the emperor’s crimson banner, she only had time to clasp her mother’s and father’s hands briefly, holding back the sting of tears.
She didn’t want to go.
“We are so proud of you, daughter,” her father said, his smile broad and plain, despite his thick beard.
Her mother squeezed her fingers. “Your fortune shines on the entire family, Mei Feng. Write us. Visit when you can.”
She could return to see her family once a year—if the emperor allowed it.
“Yes, Father,” she whispered. “Yes, Mother. I will.”
Then the envoy guided her into the royal carriage, and Ripple and Orchid were helped into a plainer one right behind that was filled with the chests they had packed for Mei Feng. After an official decree was recited by the envoy and a trumpet sounded, heavy curtains fell across the windows of the carriage, and it rumbled off. She couldn’t even peer under the heavy brocaded cloth to see her parents or her home one last time as they sped away from everything she had ever known.
They traveled swiftly toward the imperial city, stopping at inns that were soon cleared for the royal procession. Mei Feng was treated well, given the most delectable food at every meal—but she had little appetite. She missed the company of Orchid and Ripple, but was kept in solitude within the royal carriage, like something special and precious, a rare and caged bird.
They were rolling through the countryside, surrounded by silver birch and colorful wildflowers (Mei Feng had cut a small hole in the carriage’s thick curtain), when they lurched to a sudden stop, thrusting her forward on the plush, cushioned bench. She grabbed the edge of it to prevent herself from falling off. Men in her procession shouted at one another from without, their voices muffled. Scrambling over to the carriage door, she peered through the cut in the curtain. Mei Feng could see nothing but fields of golden grass nestled beneath gentle, sloping hills.
The gruff voices of her imperial guards argued outside. Something blocked their path, and they were deciding what was the best course of action. Then, in a sudden whoosh, their voices were gone. Disappeared, as with the gentle rustle of the swaying grass and the distant birdsong. Mei Feng was left in a complete and dreadful silence.
She knew what this meant.
The thick brocaded curtains were stripped from her carriage, and sunshine pierced through, stinging her eyes. She turned her head from the brightness as the door crashed open, torn from its hinges. A dark shadow filled the doorway, blotting out the sunlight. Mei Feng’s chest seized in terror.
Without a word, Hai Xin yanked her into his powerful arms. They felt like flesh, but his hold was as strong as stone, immovable like a mountain. He glided low across the wild grasses into the fields, flying, and she was carried like a rag doll against his chest.
She could hear no heartbeat there.
“The emperor will have to find some other girl,” Hai Xin said. “I have my own plans for you.”
He set her down on her feet in the field, but she clung to him, too weak from shock and fear to stand. Hai Xin took this as an invitation and bent over to kiss her, capturing her lips and her breath. She knew for certain now what he wanted. He had whispered cajolingly about children and wedded bliss, but it was clear what Hai Xin was truly after—what his aim had been from the start.
Mei Feng shoved away from him and stumbled back. “No,” she said.
“No?” His black eyebrows lifted, and an amused smile curved his mouth.
She turned from him and ran. But the golden grasses were tall here, growing above her knees, and she was disoriented and frightened; a strange stupor like spilled ink spread across her mind. Mei Feng tripped and crashed to her knees. Hai Xin pinned her to the ground before she c
ould blink.
“No!” she shouted at him, the declaration reverberating powerfully, ricocheting through the empty countryside.
“I am Hai Xin,” he said, and the words filled her whole being so her body tremored with them. “God of the Sea.”
Mei Feng forced herself to look into his face, stared into his eyes. Light spilled forth from his gaze, but darkness, too, swirled within. It was like falling into the sun—like drowning in a star-filled sky. Then she was tossed on tumultuous waves, tasting brine in her mouth, her vision blinded by rough sands and the swirl of the sea.
“You cannot say no to me,” Hai Xin said, and his voice swelled, thunderous as an ocean storm. “I take what I want.”
After it was over, Hai Xin disappeared.
His weight was heavy upon her, and then it was gone.
Mei Feng lay on the ground for some time, unable to move. The tall grasses swayed beside her, whispering—a consolation. Finally, she forced herself onto her feet and somehow managed to stand. Her legs shook, knocking against each other, as she tried to straighten her silk skirt. A sleeve had been ripped at the shoulder, and several peach panels torn from the tunic. She attempted to re-tie the embroidered belt around her waist, but her fingers trembled too much. Instead, she smoothed her hair, tucking loose strands behind her ears, and picked a few rough stalks of grass from her locks.
Her heart felt constricted, and she could not take a full breath.
Suddenly the air before her shimmered, and her body went rigid, terrified it was Hai Xin again.
But it was a woman instead, tall and regal, clad in a flowing white dress. Her black hair was arranged in high, elaborate loops, woven with emeralds, and a silver crown rested against her brow. She was more beautiful than any woman Mei Feng had ever seen, with perfect features, reminding her of the statues hewn of gods. She realized then who this woman was and fell to her knees.
