by Zoe Marriott
I should have got up and left right then. Such a thing was not for me. I was a soldier, and this was women’s work, utterly and irrefutably. No one remained to appreciate this piece and what it meant, to care whether or not the tapestry was ever finished. It was a meaningless gesture.
But already my fingers were reaching for the first leaf-shaped shuttle, with the dark green of the bamboo leaves threaded on to it, and the comb.
It had been months since I had touched a loom, and any tiny flaw in a piece like this was irreversible, ruining the whole. Yet the delicate, skilful movements came back to me in exactly the same way that fighting did when I needed it – muscle memory, engrained in the very fibres of my body.
Weaving was always one of my chief womanly accomplishments. One of the few things I could share with my mother. Something that made me feel connected with her, even if at other times we struggled to understand one another.
The churning centre of fury inside me slowly flowed away as I threaded, cut and combed, following the pattern that the dead woman had laid out on the horizontal raw-silk warp threads strung into the frame. My mind emptied of thoughts, of worry and mourning. Peace flowed into their place. I simply existed: a pair of hands that allowed the silk to find its proper place and nothing more.
I guided the final weft of green into place. It was done.
I’m sorry. Whoever you were, wherever you are now… I’m sorry we didn’t get here in time. I’m sorry I can’t do more for you than this.
Behind me, there was a soft indrawn breath.
For a frozen instant I stared at the tapestry, motionless. No. No, please.
Slowly – so slowly that I could feel each muscle shift under my skin, name each bone as it moved – I turned.
There in the doorway of the room stood the Young General. Our gazes locked.
I waited. Waited for his expression to twist, his cheeks to flush with rage, his teeth to bare, for a shout of fury. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had rushed at me with knotted fists or even drawn his sword. With this action I had given myself away as surely as if I had walked into his tent in my best silk gown and slippers, with my hair in a conch binding. Weaving was an art exclusively for women. No man should have been able to do what I had just done.
He smiled, dimple flashing. “It’s a beautiful piece. I’m glad you were able to finish it.”
His expression held nothing of fury or betrayal – only wry understanding. It invited commiseration, and asked me to smile in return. I felt myself crumple in the face of his friendliness as I would not his anger.
“Wh–what?” I stammered, shameful tears springing to my eyes.
In a rush, he crouched before me and grasped one of my hands in both of his. “Shh. Don’t. From the very first I sensed that there was something different about you. When we fought, there was something there, an awareness, a sort of knowing. But I dismissed it. I had to. Every time I felt it, I dismissed it, because it seemed outlandish and impossible. Then last night, when we looked at each other over that fire … your face seemed different. And I was sure.”
I realized with a jolt of sick, lurching horror that when I had woken from the nightmare last night, my mask had been off. Of course it had been off – I couldn’t maintain it in sleep.
“I’m sorry, sir.” It was a feeble, incomplete admission – but he clearly needed no more than that. His hand tightened on mine: “What are you going to do to me?”
His face became serious. “Tell me this. Why did you perpetrate such a deception?”
It’s not a deception. It’s who I am. I tugged at my hand restlessly, but he held it. Eventually I gave the only answer I could: “To save my family.”
“Your family? Are you really from the House of Hua, then?”
“Yes, I swear – I’m not a spy or an imposter.”
“But then why come here in your brother’s place?”
I let out a weak laugh. “My brother is ten years old and my father … my father is the best of men, the greatest of warriors, but … he is crippled. He has given our country all he has to give. To fight again would kill him. And that would kill my mother.” I paused, then in a low voice confessed, “And I wanted to serve the empire. I wanted to prove my worth. To show that I could bring my family honour.” That was as close as I could come to the full truth.
“I knew it,” he said warmly, nodding. “Hua … Hua – what is your name? Your real name, I mean?”
Hua Zhi is my real name! I struggled against the dart of red-hot rage and forced it back. My life hung in the balance. “Hua Zhilan,” I said, forcing the words out.
“Very pretty. It suits you. Hua Zhilan, you are … something I never thought existed. At least, not in real life. A woman like Dou Xianniang, or like the Red Empress. A myth, come to life. To have met you by chance … it is like stumbling over a diamond in the grass, unnoticed by anyone.”
A frown wrinkled my brow. In what way was I like a mythical female outlaw who had stolen from the wealthy and corrupt to feed the virtuous and poor? Or like the famous battle-empress, first wife of the founder of our empire? My father had said a similar thing once. It had rung false then – especially after I sought out and read the true stories of these women, not the morality-tale versions that my mother had thought suitable for me – and it rang false now. I had not earned such legendary comparisons merely because of the sex with which I had been born.
And it still brought me no closer to knowing the consequences of Wu Jiang’s discovery.
“Please be plain. What are you saying?” I stared into his face. “Aren’t you angry? Disgusted? Are you going to have me arrested? Killed?”
“Do you want me to?” he asked, half bewildered, half amused.
His smile was like salt water in a cut. “No! But I know that no one else can be expected to understand the choices I’ve made. I always knew that. I always knew that if anyone ever found out—”
“You’re wrong. I know what it is to pretend to be something you are not. To seek to protect family, even when it means going against every rule you’ve been taught – against honesty, and perhaps even decency. If anyone in this world can understand you, Hua Zhilan, it is me.”
“Because you hide your true skill as a warrior. You pretend to be a decent swordsman, powerful but unimaginative, a little slow. You fight badly on purpose. I was right.”
“Yes.” He looked down soberly – and then up again, smiling once more. “And you saw through it. You alone.”
“Why did you perpetrate such a deception?” I asked, carefully using his own words.
He answered almost eagerly, as if he had only been waiting for a chance to explain. “Because I have seen what happens to those who stand out at court. My mother stood out. She was brave and kind, and good. So good. And because some at court could not stand to see such uncorrupted brightness there, she was poisoned. I still have a father and a stepmother, and siblings – and my position, the role in which my aunt has placed me, puts all of them in constant danger. The only way to mitigate that is to make the most powerful figures at court believe that I am complacent. Average. No threat to them or their schemes. Only my closest intimates know that I am a decorated general not because of my aunt’s fondness for me, but because I have earned that rank five times over.”
I realized with some astonishment that I had allowed myself to be sidetracked. “General Wu, please tell me. What is going to happen to me now?”
“Nothing. Nothing that you don’t want.”
I gaped at him, made truly speechless for perhaps the first time in my life.
He squeezed my hand. “Continue to do your job as well as you have been, and I will do mine. And when this damned war is over and peace is finally secured … then you and I shall have a long talk. I will have a long talk with your parents, too. I think I shall enjoy meeting your father. Your whole family. The House of Hua is a truly remarkable one. Is this acceptable to you?”
His eyes seemed to be expecting me to understa
nd something – something important – but whatever it was, it was lost on me. He had discovered me. That was all I could think. No matter what he wanted, I had no room to fight back, to refuse. He wasn’t angry now, and I had to keep it that way.
After an awkward wait, I nodded hesitantly.
Wu Jiang grinned a wild, dimple-flashing grin. Then he stood and pulled me to my feet in a brisk and comradely fashion. “Come on. Let’s leave this cursed place behind.”
I went with him, numb and wordless. My great secret had been discovered and the result was … nothing? I should just continue with my work and he would talk to my father when it was all over? Talk to him about what? Possible punishments for me, or our house? But he had said he looked forward to meeting my family…
I was so taken aback, so utterly unable to fit his response into any of the disaster scenarios that I had mentally constructed that it took several hours for everything he had said to really soak into my brain.
By then we had returned to the battalion, marched down the road for several more miles to a better sheltered spot, off the road, and made camp. I had carried out my usual tasks in my usual way, without anyone appearing to sense anything different at all, but in truth I was in a daze, going over the meeting in that sad, bloody little house again and again. What had he meant? What on earth had he been trying to say? Surely there must be some consequences, some terrible sequel to this?
As always in the evening I was sitting across from him at his camp desk, working on my own reports and waiting on the servants to bring us some dinner, when it dawned on me. In fact, it was completely obvious. But at the same time it was so impossible that I couldn’t blame myself for not realizing it until then.
General Wu Jiang, his Imperial Highness, Prince of the Red Empire and nephew of Emperor Wu, had proposed to me.
And I had utterly failed to say no.
Nineteen
y brush trembled in my hand. I stilled it with a furtive glance at Wu Jiang and pretended to bend my head over my papers again.
What could have possessed him? Anyone who knew him would be horrified at the idea of such a connection! I was no one’s ideal wife! He had compared me to Dou Xianniang and the Red Empress, but that was nonsense. For a start, they were both supposed to be raving beauties. I could happily and easily live as a boy for the rest of my life.
Besides, he was a royal prince. He was young, but he should already have had a couple of princesses lined up to be first and second wives by now, even if they weren’t officially married yet.
Is he saying he wants me to be an official concubine? Perhaps the prestige of being Hua Zhou’s daughter outweighs the fact that I come from what, to the nephew of the emperor, must seem like complete penury. But surely not the small matter of me running around the country dressed as a soldier…
Can he be serious?
Is he trying to trick me?
Seduce me?
That seemed much more likely than any honourable offer. I was so far beneath him in rank and position that it was laughable. And anyone who heard that an unmarried girl had been living with hundreds of soldiers for months would probably assume she had no virtue left anyway.
But then why all that talk of waiting until the war is over, of speaking to my father? He could just demand that I lie down with him now, on pain of reporting me. Why hide his true motives?
Shu Yuen entered the tent with a smile for me, placing a simple yet hearty supper on the desk. The Young General sat back from his papers, and nodded to me politely.
“We’ll eat and work, Corporal. We should pass the town of Honourable Prosperity tomorrow and I want to ensure these reports are complete and ready to be sent to the proper offices by then.”
“O–of course, sir.” I made a production of rewetting my brush. It spoke worlds for my frame of mind that I was actually glad to immerse myself in these notes again. As I forced myself to apply my attention to the gruesome details of what we had found in the bamboo village, I shivered a little.
“Add some more fuel to the brazier before you go, would you?” Wu Jiang said to one of the servants.
After over two hours of intense scribbling, both Wu Jiang and I were flexing cramped, ink-stained fingers, and the Young General declared our work done for the night. It was late, and very quiet, and for the first time I really noticed that the two of us were entirely alone together.
Instantly, I felt my hackles rise, wary of some attempt at flirtation – or worse. But Wu Jiang didn’t even look up as I rose to my feet and began to move towards the exit. Relieved, I reached the tent flap and grasped the material in my hand.
He called that name. My other name.
I failed to control my flinch. My heart began to thump against my ribs like a lead weight.
“Yes, sir?” No, please.
“Today was … difficult,” he said. I heard the rustle of cloth and the creak of his chair, and pictured him standing behind his desk. There were no footsteps on the rug, though. He was not – yet – approaching. “I’m grateful for your good work. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
I stood frozen, grinding my teeth together as I waited for him to go on. But he said nothing more, only waited in expectant silence for a response. A quick check of my mask ensured it was composed. Turning to look over my shoulder – not as polite as I should be, but my fingers had spasmed into a death grip on the tent flap – I saw him bathed in golden light from the last dregs of oil in the work lamps.
“I’m … honoured to have been able to serve you, General.” Apprehension made my voice even huskier than usual. The servile phrase had never felt less comfortable on my tongue.
A slow, gentle smile played across his mouth, causing that incongruous dimple to wink. “Sleep well.”
“And you, sir.”
I turned to face the entrance again, his gaze a sort of shivery heat on the back of my neck.
Please don’t stop me. Please don’t. Please don’t call me back. Please let me go…
I drew the heavy canvas aside, and stepped through. The flap fell shut behind me with a soft whisper.
Chilly night air burned my throat and came out in a long, trembling plume of white. On either side of the tent entrance, General Wu’s bodyguards studiously ignored me as always, and I was grateful, although I knew they would have ignored other things, too, like my screams for help from inside…
But I had not needed to scream. Or to beg. Or even negotiate. There had been no demands, no innuendos. No flirting. He had not attempted to use his knowledge of my vulnerability against me. He had not tried to seduce or coerce me. He had treated me in every way exactly as before. The only difference was that faint hint of warmth – discreet, but unmistakable.
Wu Jiang had meant what he said. He wasn’t going to take action against me. Nothing was to change. I was safe. Safe with him. I had become … attached … to one of the richest, most powerful and influential men in the empire, and from now on, he would protect me.
That night, for the first time since I was seven years old, I cried myself to sleep.
• • •
The battalion travelled for a further eight days before reaching the great river plain that was home to the City of Endless Serenity. In that time, General Wu made himself extremely busy – busy waging a subtle, clever and relentless campaign. Against me.
Oh, he was as good as his word. I continued with my work, and he with his. He made no improper advances. Indeed, no advances of any kind. Nor did he offer me any kind of favour or preferential treatment. When others were around, he acted exactly as one would expect towards a respected, junior colleague. When it was just the two of us – and never before had I realized quite how much time I spent alone with my senior officer – he was precisely the same.
He might as well have been my elder brother, or the impartial mentor that he appeared.
Except…
If, by chance, I should happen to mention within his hearing that pumpkin pancakes with toasted sesame seed
s were a favourite dessert of mine, at the next meal I would be offered this exact treat.
If my brush were to begin to shed its hairs and cause me to mutter under my breath while working, the next day a new brush – far finer than any available from the army stores – would appear in my sack of supplies.
One morning I realized that the sword I had brought from home, chosen because it was of excellent quality but shabby-looking, and therefore unlikely to draw attention, had been stealthily removed from the scabbard in the night. It had been cleaned, sharpened, and the grip rewrapped with beautifully soft new leather. A few days later, Yulong’s saddle received the same treatment.
And each night when I crawled into the small tent pitched in the shelter of General Wu’s large one, there would be a flower waiting for me.
Even when we were miles from any town, village or farm that might sell flowers. Even if we were marching through a desolate bog where the only vegetation was reed-grass, lichen and slime. Even if I could have sworn that the man hadn’t been out of my sight for as much as a minute. There the flower would be. Just a single bloom – often an orchid, my namesake – resting on my bedroll.
It didn’t take many days of this for me to begin to suspect that the bullish, manly general was a secret and incurable dreamer. The type who had been addicted as a child to fairy tales, stories of derring-do, and noble heroism. Courtships such as this, chaste yet ardent, were the stuff of such stories. He saw me just as he had asserted: as that fantasy woman, the Virtuous Lady in Disguise. Such figures were common in folklore.
For girls, these stories were generally edited in order to change the traits of their heroines, or used as cautionary tales – easy enough since the Virtuous Lady in Disguise usually had a tragic if noble end. I had been taught that Dou Xianniang, for example, had flung herself from a cliff in order to avoid the advances of a cruel bandit king. Sad, but inevitable for a woman who ran around fighting men instead of staying home as was her real duty.
