Liyun stood outside, immaculate as always, today in a bell-shaped maroon gown, her white bow tied tightly, not a hair on her head out of place. Though she appeared…more haggard than usual. Bags under her eyes. Had she not been sleeping well?
She stepped into the wagon, leaving her clogs outside, then knelt before Painter, studying him. “You look pale,” she said. “It seems you have not fully recovered from your…malady last week. Perhaps you should lie down, then rise again, starting this day over. After you remember who you are.”
“I remember,” Painter said, then took another bite, out of spite. This woman…“Tell me, Liyun. As a yoki-hijo, is it my prerogative to choose to feed myself?”
“You are blessed by the spirits,” Liyun said, enunciating each word precisely. “You are granted the wisdom to decide to follow their dictates.”
“And if that wisdom leads me to eat on my own?” He took another bite. “I’m not on duty today; I’m just practicing. So if I feel that I should relax a little, what would you do?”
“I follow you,” she said, “as is my responsibility. And hope that you are not becoming unfit.”
Yumi’s breathing became gasps again.
Painter didn’t back down. Something about Liyun simply set him off. We’ve all had that experience with one human mosquito or another—if it’s not the buzzing, then the leeching of our blood will do it. He hated how Liyun never said what she wanted, but instead left her intent to drip from cold words. Condensation of the pure essence of patronization.
“Do you think I’m unfit?” he asked.
“I do not decide fitness,” Liyun said, bowing her head with what felt to him to be mock humility. “I only serve.”
“Great,” Painter said. “This is how you serve me today. Make sure I have peace and quiet as I eat. I want to consider the best way to recover.”
“If that is what you wish,” she said slowly, “and you are certain that you do not instead wish to follow proper protocol.”
“Great, thanks,” Painter said. “See you at the place of ritual. Appreciate your help.”
She rose and lingered there, looming over him.
He took the hint. And tossed it back in her face. “Oh,” he said, “would you get me a small paintbrush, some ink, and something to paint on? Leave it at the shrine. I feel like…painting today.”
“Painting,” Liyun said flatly.
“Painting. Yes. Thank you.”
When he didn’t respond to her looming, she—with obvious reluctance—withdrew. When the door shut, Painter left the food and crawled over to Yumi.
“Hey,” he said. “Look, it’s fine. She has to do what I say.”
“I’m. Trying. Not. To scream. Right now,” Yumi said between gasps. “Just. Leave. Me.”
Well, all right. Her world. Her rules. Or something. He finished his meal, then threw open the door and nodded to the befuddled attendants standing outside. “Let’s go.”
They held up their fans and hurried along with him toward the cool spring. A moment later, Yumi was yanked out of the wagon after him. He paused. Hadn’t Design lengthened that leash? They’d tested it, and it had worked…
She lengthened the leash between us on my world, he thought. That must not apply here.
Unfortunate, but Yumi had told him to leave her alone, so he said nothing. He continued on, all the way to the cold spring—Yumi trailing along behind. Once there, he stopped the attendants as they started to undress.
“I’ll bathe myself as well,” he said to them. “I’ll take those soaps… Thank you. Oh, and you can put my clothing on that rock right there. Thanks. I’ll call for you once I’m ready to proceed to the shrine.”
They stood in place. He gave them a reassuring smile, then nodded toward the pathway out. Once they were gone, he began undressing. Yumi turned her back to him, like he did when she was changing—but with way more subtext. Hell, there was an entire encyclopedia down there.
He stepped into the cool spring with the plate of soaps, which was designed to float on its own. He knew the order of the soaps, and followed it correctly.
Yumi remained standing on the rim of the spring, not coming in. He was briefly tempted to yank her into the water, but resisted.
“I decided,” he told her, lathering up, “that I’m going to do as you said. Embrace my place here.”
She didn’t reply.
“If I’m here,” he said, “it’s because your spirits decided to choose me. I’ve been thinking of myself as an imitation yoki-hijo, and that was wrong. I have been chosen just as you were. It merely happened to me a little later in life.”
He went through the next soap, which was colored red and came as a powder. It scraped the skin, and he had to stand in a shallower part of the pool to reach his lower portions.
As he was stepping back into the water, Yumi sighed and turned around to face him, sitting on the edge of the pool. Painter hesitated because of his state of undress, but she was staring down at her feet trailing in the water, not at him. Besides, it was only Yumi. He continued on to the next soap.
“You claim,” she said, “that you have started to care about all of this. You respond by breaking the protocol?”
“If I’m chosen by the spirits,” he said, “can’t I make decisions like this? Isn’t that my right?”
“It is,” she said, “but you can’t.”
He shook his head. “That is （lowly） hypocritical, Yumi. If I can make the decisions—if I legitimately can—then you have to let me do so. Liyun has to let us do so, even when she disagrees. Otherwise they’re not decisions. Otherwise, what she says about us being the ultimate decider? That is an untruth.” He glanced at Yumi. “And I know how you feel about those.”
Finally, she sighed and pulled off her bulky nightgown—he had no idea how they slept in something made of such thick cloth in this overly hot world—and undergarments, then slipped into the bath. He held the plate of soap out for her, so she could make spiritual versions. She liked that, for the familiarity of it, despite it vanishing from her fingers after a few minutes.
They turned to their standard ritual, bathing back-to-back in the ten-foot-wide pool, close enough for him to periodically float the soap plate her direction.
“I can’t refute your words,” she said. “Because the logic makes sense. Even though I know you’re wrong.”
“That’s because you’ve lived this so long,” he said. “It feels normal to you. It sometimes takes an outsider to point out how broken something is.”
He heard her sink down to wash out her hair, then stand up again. He scooted her the soap as she glanced at him, then she wiped the water from her eyes and pulled her hair back. “So this is the mysterious thing you said we ‘agree on’？ You made me wait a day to find out that—for some bizarre reason—your ‘revelation’ is that you should ignore propriety and piety?”
“We agree,” he said, washing his own hair, “that it’s okay to relax a tad. You went to eat with the others. I decided to eat on my own.”