After the show ends and the crowd begins to disperse, I tell Bo, “The princess is as beautiful as they say. I always thought the poets and artists tended to exaggerate, but she is how they described.” Her striking image from earlier today is still fresh in my mind. She’s now the regent while the emperor is sequestered in his private quarters due to a serious illness. Could this be the great sorrow the prophecy speaks of?
“Is she? I’m more interested to know if she has truly survived a hundred assassination attempts,” Bo says. “Some say the princess has a talisman that can guard her from ill will, or a stone that cures all illness, gifted by the mysterious shénnóng-shī who saved her father’s life.”
A stone that cures all illness. I stop, causing a girl to stumble into me, but I pay her and her muttered curses no attention. Bo notices that I’m not beside him and looks back at me, puzzled.
“H-have you—” I pause and clear my throat. “Have you seen this stone?” If the princess really does have such a cure-all, then it’s a sign. I have to win this competition.
Bo’s expression turns serious. “I should warn you. You should be cautious when you ask questions about Princess Zhen.”
“Why is that?”
“She isn’t exactly … well-liked by everyone. Many blame her for the unrest that is spreading throughout the kingdom. Sickness, poverty, cruel acts committed by the emperor’s representatives, and … other rumors.”
I know the rumors to which he refers—we heard whispers of them even in our rural province. About the clumsy handling of the northern floods. About the princess being too young to act as regent. Questions about who is really the one behind the throne. Words too dangerous to utter in the capital.
“Rumors? You mean … the poison?”
Bo furrows his brow. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”
“You avoid a lot of answers.”
“That I do.” He gives me that disarming grin again, the serious moment passing as quickly as it came. “Azalea House is the one we are looking for, and it’s across the street.”
Lost in thought—about the rumors, the princess, and the favor I’ll ask of her—I’m almost run over by a passing carriage. Bo grabs my arm and pulls me out of harm’s way, throwing us both against the side of a building. For a moment, my body is tucked against his, and instead of pushing him away, I find myself leaning into his warmth. His hip against mine, his hands on my arms—
“Careful, clever one,” he says next to my ear, his breath stirring my hair. I shiver again, now for an entirely different reason.
He’s too close. I jump away, putting distance between us. Reminding myself I will soon return to the palace, and we will never see each other again.
* * *
In the shop area of Azalea House, I am quickly swept away by one of the shopkeepers, who guides me to touch, smell, and taste a variety of tea leaves. There are jars and pots and drawers containing different varieties of tea, towering from floor to ceiling. The capable staff answers all my questions with a professional demeanor, and the mistress overseeing the storefront briskly completes my transaction. With my task done, the package wrapped and tucked under my arm, I feel the tension in my shoulders ease slightly.
Before I can thank Bo and take my leave to the palace, he catches my arm. “Let me buy you at least one cup of tea,” he insists. “An apology for scaring you today, and to show you the people of Jia are more welcoming than what you’ve experienced.”
Before I can protest, he leads me toward the open part of the teahouse, where patrons can feast on delicacies paired with the assortment of tea available in the shop. Most teahouses are boisterous affairs, with as many round tables as the proprietor can fit into the dining room. The servers have to navigate through narrow pathways, carrying heavy platters overflowing with steaming pots of tea and accompanying dishes. But even in the first few steps into Azalea House, I can tell it serves a different sort of clientele.
The space is separated with beautiful silk screens and potted plants. Music drifts overhead, but within each compartment there’s an illusion of privacy. We are led to a table with a view of the Jade River, the pleasure boats of the rich and the ferries of the commoners drifting by.
There are already candied fruits and smoked watermelon seeds on the table for snacking on, and Bo pops a few of each into his mouth immediately when we sit down. My eyes are too full to join him just yet, distracted by the ornate vase next to us crafted from white porcelain, painted with a figure of a woman playing the lute.