“My mother told me of private gardens cultivated by scholar families, or even Jia’s public gardens, where anyone may walk and admire the blooms,” I say, grasping at any other possibility for us to spend time alone, uninterrupted. “Sometimes I feel suffocated by this place, where everyone is always watching, waiting for you to make a mistake…” My voice trails off.
“I understand,” he says softly. “It’s a place where you’re not always sure if people wish you harm or mean well. That is one thing I did not expect to find in Lǜzhou. Where people say what they mean and mean what they say.”
“I would like to hear more about Lǜzhou,” I say. “If you are willing to tell me.”
The walls shake again as more soldiers march past. He grabs my hand suddenly, pulling me close. I look up at him, feeling a flash of mortification. Does he think I’m hopeful for a tryst? Is that the price I’ll have to pay to fulfill my task?
“I thought of another place I can take you to,” he whispers. “Somewhere I won’t be recognized. If you will trust me.” He brings my hand up, opening our fingers to touch, and presses his palm to mine. Trust.
I feel the sharp stab of embarrassment in my gut. It is only me, dreaming of flirtations. I nod, not trusting my voice not to betray me. He gives me the same lightning-quick grin that still makes my pulse stutter. I hope the connection between us does not pull too tight, and he remains oblivious to the thoughts still warring inside my traitorous mind.
* * *
I follow Kang as he checks to make sure there are no soldiers nearby, and we scurry to another alcove. This one contains a plum tree, white petals scattered on the stones below. Another stone lion, paws raised, waits at the base.
He pulls at an iron ring on the wall, and the mechanism slides open to reveal a hidden tunnel, just like the one Ruyi led me through when she took me to speak with the princess. How many other tunnels run through this place?
“Stay close,” he whispers to me when we are safely behind the door. “The tunnel gets tight in places, and sometimes we will pass right by the guards.”
I follow close behind, mindful of his warning. We’re able to walk comfortably side by side to start, but eventually have to walk one after another. After a time, the tunnel gradually begins to widen again before we emerge into a small chamber. There is a large iron brazier in the center, lit and emanating warmth. The light from the fire bounces off the plaques on the wall, making the inscriptions shine. There is no dust on the floor, no signs of insects or animals. It is obvious this room is well-cared for.
A bell rings somewhere above our heads. The sound of it is so close, it reverberates through my entire body. But the tone of it is familiar. It signifies the changing of the day, from morning to afternoon to the evening.
“We’re close to the bell tower!” I exclaim. The tower is located at the southwest corner of the palace, and its sound can be heard from any corner of Jia.
“We are right underneath it,” Kang explains, pulling an unlit torch from a stack in the corner. He uses the flames of the brazier to light it. “When the Ascended Emperor built the palace, he ordered these tunnels to be constructed, connecting the palace to various points in Jia as escape routes in case of attack. I spent a lot of my childhood memorizing these tunnels to hide from my tutors or my trainers.”
He looks into the dancing light of the brazier, the fire reflected in his eyes. “One of the tunnels leads to the northern docks. Another to the teahouse district. That was built at Grandmother’s request, so she could attend the performances without having to take an entourage of guards.”
Grandmother. Dowager Empress Wuyang. It’s strange to think about the fabled rulers of Dàxī’s history as people with families. That Kang could know them as well as I know Shu and my father. The thought is disconcerting.
“We should keep moving,” he tells me. We head into one of the tunnels, and as we walk I can feel the gradual slope of the ground beneath my feet. The air grows damper, like we are headed into the bowels of the earth.
“It’s a peculiar feeling, coming back here,” he murmurs when we reach a split in the path. He lifts up his torch to look in either direction.
“How long ago did you leave the palace?” I ask, hopeful that being in a place of his childhood will make him more susceptible to my questions.
“When I was nine,” he says. “It’s been ten years now. Everything is familiar, and yet…” I wait for him to finish his thought, but he does not continue.