These might have stung more, yet my heart was already leaden with grief, my mind sunken with worries far greater than aching feet or palms scraped raw. And in a way, I was glad my days were crammed even with such drudgery, leaving me little time to dwell on my misery.
When the chief steward finally deemed my performance satisfactory, I was assigned to Lady Meiling, along with her other attendants with whom I would be sharing a room. She was supposedly a demanding mistress, but I hoped among the four of us we might suffice. When I arrived with my bag, the other attendants were getting dressed, slipping on willow green robes over their white inner garments. One of the girls helped another tie a yellow sash around her waist. A pretty girl with dimples slid a brass lotus-shaped hairpin into her hair, which all of us were required to wear. They were a lively trio, chattering among themselves with easy familiarity. Despite the misery that weighed on me, a spark kindled in my chest. Perhaps I finally had the opportunity to make the friends I had long wished for.
The girl with the dimples swung toward me. “Are you the new girl? Where are you from?”
“I . . . I . . .” The story Ping’er had helped me concoct flew out of my head. Under the weight of their stare, heat rushed into my cheeks.
The others giggled, their eyes gleaming as rain-washed pebbles. “Jiayi,” one of them called to the girl with the lotus pin. “She seems to have lost her voice.”
Jiayi’s stare raked me, her mouth curling as though seeing something which displeased her. Was it my plain hairstyle or the lack of ornaments dangling from my waist, wrists, and neck? Or was it that I lacked her poise, her assurance of her place in this world? All of which heralded the simple truth that I was an outsider, that I did not belong.
“What do your parents do? My father is the chief guard here,” she declared with a distinct air of superiority.
My father slew the suns. My mother lights the moon.
That would wipe the smug expression from her face, yet I stifled the reckless impulse. A moment’s satisfaction was not worth being branded a liar or thrown into a cell. Not to mention the danger to my mother and Ping’er, if they believed me.
“I have no family here,” I said instead. A safe answer, though one which would earn me more of their contempt—I could already see it in the looks they exchanged, now they knew I had no one to protect me.
“How dull. Where did the steward find you? Off the street?” Jiayi sniffed, turning away. One by one the rest followed suit, talking among themselves once more as gaily as a flock of birds.
Ice glazed the pit of my stomach. I was not sure what they expected of me—only that, somehow, I had been found lacking. Unworthy. I walked woodenly to the far corner and lifted my bag onto the empty bed. The girls laughed, sharing a joke among themselves, their merriment driving the sting of my isolation deeper. As a lump formed in my throat, I hurried outside to gather my composure. I hated running away, but I would hate more crying in front of them.
Save your tears for something which matters, I told myself fiercely before returning to the room. They swung to me at once, the sudden silence jarring. Only then did I notice my cloth bag was unknotted, its contents strewn across the floor.
The air was thick with hostility as I crawled around to retrieve my possessions. Someone snickered, my ears burning at the sound. Childish. Petty, I seethed. But oh, how the humiliation seared! How privileged I had been to have only known love and affection until now. In my childhood, I had been terrified of the vicious monsters I read about in my books. Yet I was learning that as much to be feared was a scythe-like smile and words that cut deep. Never had I imagined people like this existed—those who took pride in treading on the dignity of another, those who thrived on the misery of others.
A small voice inside me whispered that I was indeed picked off the street, with no skills or connections to speak of. Perhaps if I held my tongue and kept my head down, they might eventually accept me as one of them. I was so tired, I just wanted to let things be. What did it matter if they won? Who cared for dignity or honor? It was nothing compared to all I had lost. But something within me cried out in protest. No, they would not shame me. I would not pander or flatter to gain their friendship. I would rather be alone than have friends as these. And though I felt lesser than an insect in this moment, I raised my chin to meet their stares.
Scorn was stamped across Jiayi’s pretty features, yet there was unease, too, in the way her eyes flicked away. Did she expect me to slink aside and fade into the shadows? I was glad to have disappointed her. They had wounded me, but they would not have the satisfaction of knowing it. Their unkindness only had as much power as I gave it, and I would wrench back my tattered pride from beneath the soles of their feet because . . . it was all I had left.
3
The pavilion overlooked a courtyard of wisteria, the trees draped with clusters of lilac blossoms. I stood behind my mistress, Lady Meiling, who wore a pink brocade dress with gleaming flowers on the flowing sleeves and skirt. It was exquisite, the embroidered petals blushing a deep red before turning silver once more. My eyes widened. Lady Meiling possessed countless outfits, but this was a rare one. Only the most skilled seamstresses could enchant their creations to respond to its wearer’s powers.
In addition to serving Lady Meiling and keeping her rooms and courtyard pristine, I was assigned the care of her garments—her robes, cloaks, and sashes of silk, satin, and brocade. At first, it seemed a pleasant if somewhat tedious task. But I soon learned I bore the brunt of her considerable displeasure whenever anything was misplaced, for the slightest scratch or speck of dust. To make matters worse, Jiayi selected our mistress’s attire each day, adding to my workload with her never-ending stream of complaints and demands.
Perhaps sensing my distraction, Lady Meiling’s lips pursed as she glanced my way. “Tea,” she said curtly.
I hastened to refill her cup, the fragrant steam curling in the air.
A strong gust of wind blew through the courtyard, showering petals across the grass. Lady Meiling smoothed down her fluttering sleeves, her brow puckering as though vexed the wind had dared to disrupt her morning.
“Xingyin, fetch my cloak,” she demanded. “The peach silk with the gold hem. Make sure you get the right one.”
I bowed, fighting the urge to grind my teeth. Lady Meiling was young, but she possessed the imperious temperament of a thousand-year-old matriarch.
Just a few months had passed since I came here, but the warmth of being among loved ones had already faded to the echo of a memory. As promised, I kept my identity a secret—yet it was never far from my thoughts. At night, I listened out for the deep and steady breathing of my roommates before letting my mind drift to the shining halls of my home. That’s when the nightmares began, of my mother and Ping’er being captured by soldiers. Of returning home to find it deserted and left in ruins. It was no wonder that I often awoke drenched in sweat, gasping through the cramp in my chest.
The other attendants disliked me, thinking my situation beneath theirs. Their contempt only steeled my spine, although they made life hard for me in countless petty ways: ruining the things in my care, mocking my every word, carrying untrue tales of me to our mistress. She sent me to kneel in the courtyard so many times, I felt I was one of the carved stone lions that guarded the entrance. I should not complain; this was better than imprisonment or being flogged with flaming whips. Yet more than the discomfort, it was the indignity which stung. Each time I sucked back my tears, swallowing them all until I could almost taste the difference between the bitter tang of humiliation and the salt of sorrow.