I hurried to Lady Meiling’s room and searched frantically for her cloak. Her patience was short and her temper as incendiary as those firecrackers the mortals set off during festivals. Finally, I spotted it flung onto a chair. Picking it up, my relief vanished at the sight of the dark blot seeping through the fabric, the ink still glistening. Without thinking, I dropped it back down before it stained my skin.
“What’s the matter?” Jiayi entered, a smile playing on her lips as she stared at the ruined garment. “If you don’t look after our Young Mistress’s clothes properly, you only have yourself to blame.”
As her hand flicked out in a disdainful wave, I stiffened to see one of her fingers darkly stained.
“It was you,” I said flatly. It should have come as no surprise.
Her cheeks reddened as she tossed her head. “Who would believe you anyway?”
My temper, simmering over the months of indignities, roiled over. “Such tricks don’t make you better than anyone, they make you less,” I hissed.
Jiayi took a step back. Was she afraid I might attack her? All I wanted was an apology, an admission of her guilt instead of hiding behind her mocking smiles and accomplices.
But I was denied even that, as Lady Meiling stormed into the room. “What’s taking you so long? I’m almost frozen from the wind!” As her gaze slid to the cloak on the floor, her mouth fell open.
Jiayi recovered her composure first, her eyes wide and guileless as she picked up the garment and shook it out to better display the mark. “Young Mistress, Xingyin spilled ink on it. She told me not to tell you because she was afraid.”
I breathed deeply, fighting for calm. Lady Meiling would never side with me against her favorite attendant. Not without proof—which I had, this time. “Jiayi is mistaken; I did no such thing. It was stained before I got here. Young Mistress is welcome to inspect us for stains.”
Jiayi paled as she buried her hands into the silken folds of the cloak. She need not have bothered as Lady Meiling’s eyes pinched tight, like a cat who had been stroked the wrong way. She disliked me, perhaps influenced by the stories the others told her.
“Jiayi is your senior in this household. Apologize to her at once. Then clean this and make sure it’s spotless.” She snatched the offending garment and tossed it at me. It struck my cheek, slithering down to pool by my feet.
I could not speak, my gut recoiling from the injustice. My arms remained wooden by my sides in defiance of her orders. A wild urge gripped me, to hurl the garment back at her. To pour freshly ground ink over Jiayi’s own robe. To storm out . . . but here the fantasy ended. Where could I go?
As Lady Meiling’s lips clamped into thin streaks, I dropped my head, forcing out an apology. Grabbing the cloak, I ran from the room, unsure how much longer I could contain myself.
I wanted to be alone, far from the chatter of the other attendants. I was beginning to understand why my mother preferred solitude during the times that burdened her heart. With a bucket and a bar of soap, I made my way to the nearby river. Clusters of bamboo grew all around, lush emerald green as they stretched proudly toward the sky. I sat by the riverbank, scrubbing the cloak, my chest so tight I could barely breathe. How I missed my home! The vow I had made to rescue my mother crushed me with its sheer futility. How could I ever help her, powerless as I was? My future stretched before me, lonely and bleak—a lifetime of servitude without hope of betterment. An unwanted tear welled up in the corner of my eye. I had learned to swallow them, inhaling sharply or blinking them away. But as I was alone, I let it trail down my cheek.
“Why are you crying?” A clear voice rang out, startling me.
I spun around, only now noticing the young man sitting on a rock a short distance away, an elbow resting on his raised knee. How could I have missed his aura, which pulsed in the air? Strong and warm, as bright as a cloudless noon. His dark eyes gleamed from beneath sweeping brows, and there was a radiance to his skin like it had been glazed by the sun. His long black hair was gathered up into a tail, spilling over his blue brocade robe, which was fastened around his waist with a silk belt. A yellow jade ornament swung from his sash, its tassel reaching to his knees as he jumped down and strode toward me. As he returned my gaze unreservedly, heat crept up my neck.
“It can’t be that hard to clean some dirty clothes,” he remarked, staring at the bundle in my hands.
“How would you know? It’s a lot harder than it looks,” I retorted. “And I would never cry over this. It’s just . . . I miss my family.” The moment the words slipped out, I bit my tongue. It was the truth, but what had possessed me to speak of such things to a stranger?
“If you miss your family, just go back to them. Why would you leave? Especially for work such as this.” He gestured at the sodden garment dismissively, the corners of his lips curving up.
Was he mocking me? I’d had my fill of such treatment today. His arrogance, the careless way he spoke, snapped my frayed nerves. What did he know of my troubles? Who was he to judge?
I cast a pointed look at his finery. “Not everything is that simple. Not everyone is as fortunate to do as they please. And I’ll take no advice from someone who has never worked a day in his life.”
His smile vanished. “Your attitude is rather insolent for an attendant.” He sounded more curious than offended.
“Being an attendant doesn’t mean I don’t have my pride. The work I do is not a reflection of who I am.” Turning my back to him, I scrubbed at the cloak with more vigor than before. I had wasted too much time already; Lady Meiling would be furious if I took too long—which would mean another night of kneeling on the cold, hard ground.
There was no reply and I thought he had left, tired of teasing me. Yet I twisted around to find him still there.
“Looking for me?” he laughed. As a heated denial rose in my throat, he added quickly, “Are you from the Golden Lotus Mansion?”
“How did you know?” I rose to my feet, wondering if he was an acquaintance of Lady Meiling.
He leaned forward then, his outstretched hand grazing the side of my head. I recoiled and swatted him away, knocking out the brass lotus pin from my hair. Before I could move, he bent down and picked it up from the grass. Without a word he wiped the pin against his sleeve, sliding it back into my hair. Dirt smeared his robe, which seemed not to bother him in the least.
“Thank you,” I said, finding my voice. No, he could not be my mistress’s friend. None of them would ever help an attendant.
“Your pin,” he explained. “Don’t all the attendants from there wear the same one?”
I nodded as I sat down, plunging the cloak into the stream again, cursing inwardly at the stubborn ink. Instead of leaving as I expected, he settled down beside me, his legs dangling over the edge of the bank.
“Why are you so unhappy?”
It had been so long since I had someone to talk to, someone willing to listen. My caution—so carefully cultivated here—thawed in the spark of his warmth. “Each morning when I awaken, I don’t want to open my eyes,” I began haltingly, unused to unburdening myself.
“Maybe you should sleep more if you’re so tired.”
He grinned but I scowled at him, in no mood for humor. How silly I was to think he might have cared. I grabbed the cloak and bucket to leave, as he scrambled to his feet.