Biyu had donewhat she needed to do; she told herself over and over again about how necessary it was for her to escape from Muyang’s grips. She’d been a prisoner—how could Nikator fault her for wanting to not be a prisoner anymore? No,hewas wrong.
He saw the loneliness, the forced isolation, the way she was trapped in her bedroom; he saw it all and yet he didn’t even offer to help? He chose to still go along with whatever Muyang planned for her? If they were truly lovers, then he would have found a way for her to be free. He would have cared enough to do something. She’d had to take matters into her own hands, even if it had broken her heart in the process. And if Nikator hated her for it? Then he’d never truly cared about her in the first place.
For the first three days after the event, Biyu holed herself away in the inn and refused to get out. She ate, slept, and cried, and then repeated it all the next day. By the fourth day, her anger overtook everything else. How dare Nikator fault her for wanting the most basic of human rights? The right to be free? To not be a prisoner?
And then, the days blurred together even more. A week passed since the incident and Biyu was more lost on what she needed to do. She remained at the inn, but she knew she couldn’t stay here forever, so she explored Yucheng. It was a mid-sized city, according to the innkeeper’s wife, and so it wasn’t strange to have visitors often. That was good, because Biyu didn’t want to be in a place where she stood out. She had traded her fine dress for a simple one. It was a plain pale blue color with simple purple lotuses embroidered on the sleeves. The innkeeper’s wife had asked her several times if she was sure she wanted to trade for something so cheap, but Biyu had insisted on it. Perhaps itwas a bad deal, but the faster she blended in and disappeared, the better.
Biyu had never traveled anywhere before, not even the capital, so she was shocked at the sights the city had to offer. There were shops with beautiful, vibrant fabrics on display; some were at open stalls, others tucked away in buildings with glass to peer inside and paper lanterns above the doors. She passed by stalls of spices; the scent of anise, cloves, and peppers pervaded the air, between the amalgamation of woodsmoke, sweat, and perfumes. Sweltering blacksmith shops had their blades on display. Herbalists sold dried roots at their stalls and bottled medicinal creams and liquids. Merchants sold all types of jewelry—most of them appearing to be painted glass. Children wove through the crowds, their laughter pealing through the air, their wooden swords and spinning toys clutched close to them.
Biyu stepped over a puddle of piss near a coop of chickens, her attention skating from the animals to the street performers some distance away. There were so many sights to see that she didn’t even know what to think of it all. It was honestly overwhelming. Even though she had walked the streets for the past four days, she still found it as shocking as the first time she had seen it.
Most of the store fronts held wooden signs with lettering signaling what they sold, and it usually accompanied a crude drawing—likely for the folk who couldn’t read. Some of the streets had canopies of interwoven fabric above, stretching from building to building, to keep out the scorching sun.
She passed a merchant selling ink, scrolls, paper and brushes; the smell of the ink reminded her of home, when she’d been allowed to practice her calligraphy, but she quickly averted her attention. One thing she had learned at the market space was that if she caught a vendor’s eye, they wouldn’t leave her alone until she touched their product, listened to their sales pitch, andthen bought something. The only reason she hadn’t been forced to do the latter was because she didn’t have any money on her, which earned her disappointment and even annoyance from some of the vendors.
This time, however, she did have money. Earlier that morning, she had traded her second hairpin for a few coins. It wasn’t much—and looking back on it, she’d probably been scammed and given a lower amount—but it was enough for her needs. At least until she ran out, but that was a problem for another day.
Her gaze lingered on a jade pendant at a jewelry stall; even as she tried to move forward, she found herself slowly gravitating toward it. Finally, unable to resist the urge, she stopped at the stall to get a closer look.
It was a circular pendant with a dragon carved on of it, suspended on a simple brown string with two glass beads on either side of it.
“Are you interested in it?” the merchant asked, motioning to the necklace. “It’s a beautiful piece. Would make a perfect gift for a husband, brother, or father.”
Biyu cringed. Husband. It was almost easy to forget that they were technically married—at least magically speaking. “It really is beautiful,” she murmured. She could imagine Nikator wearing it beneath his uniform or those leathers he usually wore. And he likely would appreciate the dragon symbol. “But my husband isn’t talking to me right now. We recently got in a fight, so I don’t know if he would ever forgive me. Much less with a simple necklace.”
She didn’t know why she said it, but once the words were out, she found it easier to breathe. If just a little. Maybe letting a stranger know wasn’t the right move, but it sure lightened the weight in her chest.
She also had no plans of gifting it to him, since they probably wouldn’t see each other again.
“You would be surprised what a small, thoughtful act can do for someone. I’m sure his anger will fade once he sees the gift,” the woman said with a wink.
Biyu couldn’t bring herself to smile. She stared at the pendant sadly. “I don’t think this would be enough to repair the damage. I … hurt him pretty badly. Even though I think I’m justified, I hurt him.”
“It sounds to me likeyou’rethe one who’s hurting.”
A lump formed in her throat. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel so lost.”
The woman’s eyebrows pinched together. This was probably more than she had asked for; the lady just wanted to sell her wares and Biyu was unloading on her. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks and she wiped her stinging eyes. She’d never been the type of person to burst into tears so suddenly before all this, but she lately couldn’t stop them once they started.
Biyu motioned to the necklace. “I’ll … I’ll buy it.”
A wide grin spread on the merchant’s face. After Biyu paid and she had the pendant tucked in her pocket, she scurried down the market, avoiding merchants shouting their prices, customers weaving in and out of the thick crowds, children running between the streets, and the guards.
She had learned something shocking the first time she had entered the streets. News had spread that she and Yat-sen had been killed after a failed coup. Even with that piece of news circulating among the common folk, she had no doubt that the guards knew the truth. That she was alive, on the run, and that they needed to be on the lookout for anyone matching her description.
Biyu kept her head low as she sped past a pair of guards inspecting goods in a cart pulled by oxen. She rounded thecorner and the market streets began to thin as this was more of a residential area. Children ran past her, screaming and giggling as they chased one another. People carried bamboo baskets loaded with fruits and vegetables—no doubt purchased from the market—and some carried cloth bundles of their purchases.
She was so engrossed in making it to the inn that she didn’t even notice when she ran straight into a hard wall—no, aperson.
Biyu stumbled back, nearly falling on her butt, when a hand stretched out and steadied her.
“I’m sorry?—”
She lifted her head and her breath caught in her throat. All of her thoughts stilled. The entire street full of people disappeared. The sounds, the sights,everythingvanished.
Because peering down at her was a pair of furious, blazing blue eyes.
31
