I can feel it long after he disappears into the night. Long after it feels like he was never there at all.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We gather to meet the judges at midday, the sun beating high above our heads as we cross the grand courtyard. Without the crowds, without the soldiers, I feel like a tiny ant crawling across the large space. Minister Song greets us at the top of the marble steps, Marquis Kuang standing beside him. I take care to keep myself at the back of the group, to hide my face so he does not suddenly recall that I am the maid responsible for the commotion in his residence two days before.
The roof of the covered balcony shields us from the sun, and we can look over the Courtyard of Promising Future to the rooftops of the palace and then the city beyond. The view is spectacular, too much to take in all at once. A black pagoda stands in the distance, the watchful tower looking over the city’s red-tiled rooftops.
“You stand before the Hall of Eternal Light.” Minister Song’s voice brings us back to the challenge at hand. “This is where the next round will be held. The competition will no longer be open to the public.”
This is not a surprise, but the competitors still murmur at each other before the minister holds up one hand to silence us.
“Still, it is a great honor to be received in this hall. It was built for the Ascended Emperor, to both honor and humble him. From this vantage point, he will remember his purpose: to protect the people of Dàxī, and to remember that even the sun can be shot down from the sky.”
I remember the legend of the archer who once rose to the greatest heights. He shot down nine of the arrogant sons of the Sky Emperor when the earth was on fire beneath them.
Just like the archers who attempted to kill the princess. But no one dares say that aloud.
Minister Song gestures to the man beside him. “Marquis Kuang?”
The nobleman steps forward, spreading his arms with a jovial grin. “I present to you a simple enough task.” A servant comes forward and bows, holding a tray on which five cups are balanced. “You will have five cups to choose from. One cup is safe. The other four cups contain poison.” He waves and the servant backs away.
“Poison!” he declares again, delighted at this challenge. But I know the truth: This competition is rigged in his favor, ensuring that his preferred competitors will have his assistance and the guidance of the Esteemed Qian. Two old men playing at courtly games, confident they will still be in power when a new dawn rises over Dàxī.
Does he know the emperor is dead? Do they all know?
“What sort of poison will you face?” he continues theatrically. “Will it be one that will rack your body with unspeakable pain? Make you bleed from every orifice? Cause you to fall asleep … forever?”
The other shénnóng-tú fret at this, but no one seems particularly afraid. It’s the most basic training of a shénnóng-tú, the discernment of common poisons. They’re expected to be able to identify them by scent, taste, and appearance. But I know that today’s challenge will involve the use of the Silver Needle; it cannot merely be a simple test of skill.
“I have arranged for the assistance of the finest entertainers in Jia.” His smile is slippery as an eel. A bell rings, and five figures walk in from the side of the hall. Five beautiful women, dressed in white skirts and white bodices, their sashes containing the faintest hint of color, their shoulders wrapped in wisps of shimmering gauze. They tuck their hands beside their hips, gracefully arch their wrists, and curtsy in unison to the marquis, ethereal in their beauty. Like they have stepped directly from a painting depicting the star goddesses of the celestial palace.
I’m sure my own mouth is open in awe, as are many of my fellow competitors’。
The marquis claps, round cheeks flushed. “Some of the greatest beauties of Jia, from Azalea, Peony, Lotus, Orchid, and Chrysanthemum—five of the oldest teahouses in the capital. They are apprentices like you, seeking to make a name for themselves.”
The competitors whisper among themselves; some of the men look as if they wished they could swallow the young women whole.
“These ladies are trained in the intricacies of the tea ceremony,” the marquis continues. “You will prepare a cup for them to drink, and they will prepare you five cups in turn. You will be permitted to select only one cup out of the five, and that is the one you will drink from.”
“How is that fair?” one of my fellow shénnóng-tú protests. “How are we supposed to discern the poison?”