I bowed, fighting the urge to grind my teeth. Lady Meiling was young, but she possessed the imperious temperament of a thousand-year-old matriarch.
Just a few months had passed since I came here, but the warmth of being among loved ones had already faded to the echo of a memory. As promised, I kept my identity a secret—yet it was never far from my thoughts. At night, I listened out for the deep and steady breathing of my roommates before letting my mind drift to the shining halls of my home. That’s when the nightmares began, of my mother and Ping’er being captured by soldiers. Of returning home to find it deserted and left in ruins. It was no wonder that I often awoke drenched in sweat, gasping through the cramp in my chest.
The other attendants disliked me, thinking my situation beneath theirs. Their contempt only steeled my spine, although they made life hard for me in countless petty ways: ruining the things in my care, mocking my every word, carrying untrue tales of me to our mistress. She sent me to kneel in the courtyard so many times, I felt I was one of the carved stone lions that guarded the entrance. I should not complain; this was better than imprisonment or being flogged with flaming whips. Yet more than the discomfort, it was the indignity which stung. Each time I sucked back my tears, swallowing them all until I could almost taste the difference between the bitter tang of humiliation and the salt of sorrow.
I hurried to Lady Meiling’s room and searched frantically for her cloak. Her patience was short and her temper as incendiary as those firecrackers the mortals set off during festivals. Finally, I spotted it flung onto a chair. Picking it up, my relief vanished at the sight of the dark blot seeping through the fabric, the ink still glistening. Without thinking, I dropped it back down before it stained my skin.
“What’s the matter?” Jiayi entered, a smile playing on her lips as she stared at the ruined garment. “If you don’t look after our Young Mistress’s clothes properly, you only have yourself to blame.”
As her hand flicked out in a disdainful wave, I stiffened to see one of her fingers darkly stained.
“It was you,” I said flatly. It should have come as no surprise.
Her cheeks reddened as she tossed her head. “Who would believe you anyway?”
My temper, simmering over the months of indignities, roiled over. “Such tricks don’t make you better than anyone, they make you less,” I hissed.
Jiayi took a step back. Was she afraid I might attack her? All I wanted was an apology, an admission of her guilt instead of hiding behind her mocking smiles and accomplices.
But I was denied even that, as Lady Meiling stormed into the room. “What’s taking you so long? I’m almost frozen from the wind!” As her gaze slid to the cloak on the floor, her mouth fell open.
Jiayi recovered her composure first, her eyes wide and guileless as she picked up the garment and shook it out to better display the mark. “Young Mistress, Xingyin spilled ink on it. She told me not to tell you because she was afraid.”
I breathed deeply, fighting for calm. Lady Meiling would never side with me against her favorite attendant. Not without proof—which I had, this time. “Jiayi is mistaken; I did no such thing. It was stained before I got here. Young Mistress is welcome to inspect us for stains.”
Jiayi paled as she buried her hands into the silken folds of the cloak. She need not have bothered as Lady Meiling’s eyes pinched tight, like a cat who had been stroked the wrong way. She disliked me, perhaps influenced by the stories the others told her.
“Jiayi is your senior in this household. Apologize to her at once. Then clean this and make sure it’s spotless.” She snatched the offending garment and tossed it at me. It struck my cheek, slithering down to pool by my feet.
I could not speak, my gut recoiling from the injustice. My arms remained wooden by my sides in defiance of her orders. A wild urge gripped me, to hurl the garment back at her. To pour freshly ground ink over Jiayi’s own robe. To storm out . . . but here the fantasy ended. Where could I go?
As Lady Meiling’s lips clamped into thin streaks, I dropped my head, forcing out an apology. Grabbing the cloak, I ran from the room, unsure how much longer I could contain myself.
I wanted to be alone, far from the chatter of the other attendants. I was beginning to understand why my mother preferred solitude during the times that burdened her heart. With a bucket and a bar of soap, I made my way to the nearby river. Clusters of bamboo grew all around, lush emerald green as they stretched proudly toward the sky. I sat by the riverbank, scrubbing the cloak, my chest so tight I could barely breathe. How I missed my home! The vow I had made to rescue my mother crushed me with its sheer futility. How could I ever help her, powerless as I was? My future stretched before me, lonely and bleak—a lifetime of servitude without hope of betterment. An unwanted tear welled up in the corner of my eye. I had learned to swallow them, inhaling sharply or blinking them away. But as I was alone, I let it trail down my cheek.