“Stop!” I lash out at him, kicking at the side of his knee with one foot and thrusting my elbow into the middle of his chest, where I know it will hurt him the most.
He yelps in pain, letting me go, but the musician finishes her performance at precisely that moment, and the sound of our struggle draws everyone’s attention.
I back away, out of reach of his grasping fingers, keeping my head down. The door is just behind me, only a few steps away.
“Please,” I whisper, trying to disguise my voice. “I must get back, the kitchens are waiting for me to return.”
“You!” The man clutches at his chest with one hand, the other raised in a fist. “You will pay for this!”
“Young man!” The commanding voice of the marquis cuts through the other conversations, dripping with disdain. “You’ll respect the servants of the palace. You cannot buy their attention like the whores of the entertainment houses you frequent.”
“Do you not understand?” I look up to see the Esteemed Qian standing at one of the tables at the end of the room. From his appearance, that of a wise sage with a flowing white beard, I expected a kindly voice filled with warmth and wisdom. But instead, the voice that comes out is sharp, like he has bitten into a sour plum.
A friend of the young man who grabbed me quickly pulls him back down, his face crimson with shame.
“The astronomers all speak of change in the stars,” the Esteemed Qian continues. “It is a period of shifting alliances and fickle natures. It is a time for focus, not for chasing after the skirts of any pretty girl who comes across your path. Not to be glutting your stomach on wine and food. You will have this life if you are the court shénnóng-shī. It will all be within your grasp if you win the competition. You will have all the entertainment houses at your disposal, all the coin you need to buy whatever you want.”
Faces nod around the room in smug agreement. I feel my face twist with disgust. How could it be possible that my mother used to revere this man, the one who counseled the dowager empress into supporting the role of the shénnóng-shī in society? Was it because he truly believed in the benefits of Shénnóng’s magic, or was it because he was hungry for the power it would provide him?
I’m grabbed and pulled toward the door. I react, struggling, but the next words stop me.
“Wipe that look off your face, or we’ll both be killed,” the servant whispers into my ear.
“You there!” Shao’s voice calls out. “Stop!”
With disgust, the maidservant throws my arm down, leaving me to fend for myself.
I turn, slowly. I make myself as small as I possibly can, to play the part of the demure servant they expect. “Yes?”
“Don’t you have to thank Marquis Kuang?” His voice still exudes that lazy, indulgent confidence. “Do you not know your place?”
I look up and see the marquis with his eyes narrowed, as if he will recognize me in the next moment—name me as that girl with the rebel poetry that rolled off my tongue, calling out for the blood of nobles to be spilled. But there is no pointed finger, no accusation.
“M-my thanks, Honored One,” I stutter with a curtsy, and flee.
* * *
No one chases after me through the halls of the Residence of Autumnal Longing. The only sound is that of my own hurried footsteps and the harsh wheezing of my breath. Before we are permitted to leave the residence, Qing’er and I receive a tongue-lashing from the head of the marquis’s household.
“What happened in there?” Qing’er whispers to me when we are finally permitted to leave.
I cannot find the words to explain what I saw; I don’t trust myself to speak without screaming. At the injustice of it, at the way these people can disregard the rules without fear of punishment. I can only grab his arm and hurry as far away from that place as we are able. Away from those who already have the opportunities and connections of those who reside in Jia. They can seek an audience with the marquis, receive the personal counsel of the Esteemed Qian. I don’t know how I will ever get Shu the help she needs.
Returning to the competitors’ residence, I pull off the maidservant’s clothes, disgusted that I had thought of them as beautiful. The embroidered finery, the lovely flowing sleeves, all of it pretty and useless. Just another rope for them to bind us with. Looking down at my competitor’s robes, I remember how I felt when I pulled them on for the first time. The tentative hope, the brief break of sun through the clouds. The longer I reside in the palace, the more I realize that hope is an illusion. They have already selected who is to be the victor and who is to fail.