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Qianqiao doesn’t know what she’s supposed to be doing here.
The music is swelling around her. The people are laughing and chattering and meeting their glasses together so it makes a gentle tinkling sound. So many of them are looking at her. Her mother had ordered the tailors to start making her dress two months before the ball. She supposes this is what she wanted. She had felt much more comfortable in her room, when all the sound was dimmed to a thudding roar like the sound of waves echoing inside a seashell.
When Qianqiao had walked down the stairs in front of her parents, everyone had stopped to look at her. There were so many eyes, each examining her for ticks and flaws and blemishes. Her face had burned under the unwanted attention. Her parents had beamed at her. They looked so proud. Qianqiao wanted to disappear.
The ball was supposed to find her a husband, or at least some suitor worthy of her time. Qianqiao is of ‘marrying age’ now. She thinks that comes with more troubles than it is worth. A few months ago, she would have been completely against it. She had been besotted with the palace guard, Yu Qiufeng. He had seemed to like her too, and they had had a brief, sparkling dalliance for a few weeks until she had found him with a palace maid. She had turned around and not looked back. He had left her numerous notes for the first month after they stopped seeing each other, but he stopped eventually. Every time she sees him in the hallways, she still has to tamp down the urge to punch him.
So Qianqiao has no reason to be here, really. She never was any good at parties. All that talking with people she didn’t know, who didn’t know her. People who only saw the princess who would inherit the throne, and not the lonely girl who wanted someone to talk to.
Sometimes she hates Yu Qiufeng most of all because he actually listened to her, and without him, she doesn’t have anyone else to talk to. They used to sneak away together, hand in hand, to find some deserted room in the palace where they could sit and talk and laugh. Yu Qiufeng told her about his father’s illness, and how he had become a palace guard to support his parents and his young sister, and Qianqiao told him about how sometimes she couldn’t stand the weight of the crown, how being part of the royal family wasn’t nearly as lucky as it was made out to be.
Qianqiao moves amongst the crowd delicately, trying not to push into anyone or catch anybody’s eye to give them an excuse to talk to her. Some people move politely out of her way. Others leer at her and don’t budge. They see how weak she is, they scrutinise her from every angle and take pleasure in her ostensible cowardice to meet their eyes. Qianqiao makes her way to her parents, who are in conversation with a duke and duchess. Perhaps she can seek refuge with them.
Her parents are dressed up in the fine robes of the ball; both of their outfits are woven of green silk and gold flakes, matching each other. Qianqiao’s own dress took an impressive time to make. It is pale blue with white embellishments around the skirt, and it engulfs her small figure. She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to dance in it, but she fervently hopes she can last the night without too much dancing.
As if on cue, a large man with a bushy mustache steps right into her path with self-assured gusto.
“I am Huo Youming of the Gentle Wind Sword Kingdom. Would you do me the honour of the first dance, your Highness?” He says it as if he does not expect to be refused, and Qianqiao is too startled to say no. He takes her hand in his large sweaty one, and leads her out onto the dance floor. He places his hands on her waist, where they feel heavy and uncomfortable. The next few minutes that follow are intensely awkward for Qianqiao, as she avoids eye contact with him at all costs and resists his efforts to draw her into conversation about raising taxes on the peasants.
At long last, the song is concluded, and Qianqiao has time to sigh in relief for a mere moment before she is pulled into yet another dance; this time with a small, reedy-looking man who looks very eager to say as much as their limited time will permit him now that he is in her presence. He doesn’t let her get a word in edgewise, and only as she is drawn into a dance with someone else does it occur to him to look regretful that their conversation was completely one-sided. After this, Qianqiao is dragged through a flurry of dances with men who all seem interested in dancing with the eligible princess, and it is only the cool hand of her mother upon her shoulder that stalls another potential suitor in his tracks. The empress dismisses them with a short wave of her hand, and turns to face an endlessly grateful Qianqiao.
“Are you alright there, Qian-er? You look a little tired,” the empress observes, smiling gently at her daughter.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Qianqiao murmurs. “I’m just going to go outside for a bit of fresh air.” Her mother nods and pats her again on the shoulder, and Qianqiao slips away.
She moves through the crowd, avoiding any eyes or offered hands. When she finally makes it outside on a large balcony, she takes a huge lungful of cold air, and immediately feels as if a large weight has been lifted off her shoulders. All the pressure of those people is gone now. She is alone, and safe.
The moon shines high and full above her, round as a perfectly crisp apple and glowing like a softer sun. Qianqiao leans on a stone barricade that is cool to the touch and relieves her hands of the residual heat left over from dancing with all those people. It feels so nice. Around the moon, countless stars shimmer and twinkle, and Qianqiao takes several more deep lungfuls of air to ground herself in this moment.
The palace gardens stretch for aeons; Qianqiao’s old nanny once whispered to her that it had been built by a thousand fairies and that each one had sprinkled it with their magic. Looking at it now, Qianqiao can almost believe it. The grounds are lush with verdant green grass, golden daffodils, clear bluebells, a myriad of tulips, and flowers awash in more colours than she could think to give a name to. It feels like a tantalising feast for the eyes, like a landscape crafted for the gods.
Something flickers in the corner of Qianqiao’s eye. A shadow, some sort of movement near the castle walls. She turns, her body tensed, and scans the darkness.
Everything is still. There is nothing there.
Qianqiao exhales and turns back to the gardens. It must have been a bat, or some nocturnal bird. The palace has excellent security. There are probably dozens of guards patrolling the grounds now.
Her eye is caught by the cherry blossom tree. It only began to bloom a few weeks ago, the first mark of spring. Its petals are dusted with pale pink, and the branches look almost luminescent under the moonlight.
When Qianqiao was younger, she would spend hours on the balconies near the cherry blossom trees. Once springtime arrived they would bloom all over the grounds, and everything would be covered in a pale pink tinge. It was too dangerous for Qianqiao to leave the palace to go outside in the gardens at night, she was told. So she sat on the balcony of her bedroom, cross-legged with her chin propped up on her fists, and staring at the moon and the cherry blossoms as if they might impart some divine wisdom upon her. She used to dream about the fairies who built the garden living inside each of the cherry blossom flowers, because the cherry blossoms were the prettiest things in the whole garden. Qianqiao imagined that at night, during spring, when the weather was just right and the moon was high and full, the fairies would uncurl from the buds where they had been sleeping and would come out. She spent many nights on the balcony, waiting for them.
“Hello,” a smooth voice says behind her.
Qianqiao spins around, snapped out of her reverie and gazing at the newcomer. She is… well, she’s certainly something.
The woman who has just arrived on the balcony lappears to be about the same age as her, but she does not have the same look in her eye as all the people on the inside. She seems curious, but there is a determined glint in her expression as if a desire to satisfy her curiosity. She has dark, sharp eyes and a soft jawline, but there is a flash of insincerity in the curve of her lips. She is draped in extravagant red robes, emblazoned with detailed patterns that must’ve taken hours for a seamstress to make, but her clothes, strangely, do not seem to fit her. Qianqiao briefly wonders if her tailor could not adjust to her measurements, but she dismisses it as silly. What kind of wealthy noblewoman couldn’t afford a tailor to adjust to their measurements? It’s ridiculous, really.
And yet the woman seems strange. This impression is not reduced as she stalks closer to Qianqiao, each footstep carefully placed and considered. Up close, she looks beautiful. Her skin looks smooth and well-cared for, and the flutter of her eyelashes does not diminish the intelligence that exudes from her. She looks shrewd and analytical, but as her eyes skim over Qianqiao it does not bother her. In fact, she is alarmed to sense a tingle skittering up her spine.
“What would a young beauty like you be doing out here, all alone?” The woman enquires. Qianqiao is gratified to find that her voice is just as pleasing as her face - and then slightly flustered at her own gratification.
“I was tired of the crowds,” Qianqiao responds, transfixed by the woman’s face. “May I ask what your name is?”
The woman’s smile widens to a grin. “You may call me Du Pusa,” she says, and Qianqiao rolls the sound of it on her tongue. She finds she rather likes it. It fits this woman, with her strange clothes and her sudden appearance and the almost feral lilt to her grin, something that warns of consequences that seem deliciously conspiratorial.
“Du Pusa,” Qianqiao tries on her mouth. It fits this woman exactly. Yes. Du Pusa.
“And what shall I call you, pretty maiden?” Du Pusa asks, drawing slightly closer. Qianqiao can almost sense the heat of her breath. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She feels the same tingle on her spine, and relishes it.
“Qianqiao,” she says, and Du Pusa tilts her head back and looks at Qianqiao, right in the eyes.
“A pretty name for a pretty girl, Qianqiao,” Du Pusa says, and - oh.
Qianqiao opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out of it. She can feel heat rising up in her cheeks. Absent-mindedly, she wonders what Du Pusa’s hands feel like.
“Have you been to the palace before?” Qianqiao asks, for something to say. There is too much - something - in the air, and she needs to fill it up with something else before it starts to crackle and ignite.
“No, I can’t say I have,” Du Pusa says, a sly smile tugging at her lip, “but you appear to be familiar with it.”
Qianqiao pauses for a moment. She doesn’t know. Du Pusa doesn’t know that she’s the princess; doesn’t even seem to know that she’s part of the royal family. Maybe she wasn’t here when Qianqiao entered, when she was announced? That wouldn’t explain how odd it was that she wouldn’t know who Qianqiao was. Perhaps she hailed from a far away kingdom, and it took her so long to arrive that she didn’t get there in time for when Qianqiao’s name was called out. She’s not wearing the official crown, because it’s heavy and intricate so it’s only used for important ceremonies, so she only has the small hairpieces in her hair that she uses every day. Qianqiao supposes it’s plausible that Du Pusa just didn’t notice anything connecting her to royalty, but something seems amiss.
It is only then that Qianqiao notices Du Pusa’s attention on her - unwavering attention that is, her head tilted to the side as if she is trying to decipher Qianqiao’s expression, or read her mind just by looking at her intensely. Qianqiao flounders. “I, uh, I’ve been to the palace a couple of times for the balls and parties. I don’t like it very much, but my parents are involved in politics and I don’t have much of a choice.”
It seems, on reflection, a good answer. Qianqiao isn’t lying, technically, and Du Pusa looks as if she buys it for the most part, although there is still a hint of suspicion that flashes for a moment before it disappears behind a carefully crafted mask.
Du Pusa hoists herself up onto the banister - for a terrified moment, Qianqiao thinks she’s going to fall over it - but Du Pusa merely perches herself on top, leaning back a little. If she leans too far she might fall, Qianqiao thinks. If she leaned a little further, she’d be able to pluck a flower from the cherry blossom tree before she fell to the ground.
“Careful,” Qianqiao says, worrying her lip between her teeth. “It’s a steep drop down there.”
Du Pusa smirks at her easily, leaning back a little more and arching her neck so that moonlight shines on the open expanse of skin. Qianqiao’s eyes are drawn to it. “It’d take more than a ‘steep drop’ to kill me,” she says, pearly teeth grinning. Qianqiao believes it. Du Pusa looks like very little could take her down.
“Do you know martial arts?” Qianqiao blurts out, and then blushes bright red for having said it. It just… seems like too much of a coincidence. Du Pusa is nothing like any of the society ladies she’s ever met before, and everything about her from her posture to her confidence to that dangerous smirk is almost threatening, but Qianqiao doesn’t feel as if she’s in danger right now. Du Pusa looks like the kind of person who could make you feel as if you hung the stars, or make you wish you had never been born.
Du Pusa slips off the banister, and steps towards Qianqiao. Her smile has dimmed a little. “You ask lots of questions,” she murmurs.
Qianqiao, feeling emboldened, replies “Well, don’t you?”
Du Pusa takes another slow step towards her, but Qianqiao has no desire to step back. “You should really be more careful of strange women who turn up on balconies. You never know what they might be hiding.”
Qianqiao takes a step at the same time Du Pusa does, mimicking her and meeting her eyes with a steady stare. “No, I suppose you don’t,” she says, considering it. “But what a tragedy it would be if one missed a chance to be in the presence of a great beauty only because they succumbed to fear and doubt.”
Du Pusa blinks at her, slowly and with certainty, like she has decided something. She gestures to the doors, where the faint sound of music is just barely audible through the wood. They’re playing a waltz, Qianqiao thinks.
“Would you like to dance?” Du Pusa says, as if the question is a mere formality because she already knows the answer. Qianqiao does too. Her hand raises instinctively to meet Du Pusa’s, and she sees them lit up by the moon; long and slender, with clean fingernails that are sharpened nearly to a point. Du Pusa’s hand meets hers mid-air and feels cool in Qianqiao’s own warm hand. Her thumb brushes over Qianqiao’s hand, rubbing it. Qianqiao’s heart skips a beat.
Du Pusa places her other hand on Qianqiao’s waist, and begins to sway her. At first they try to move in time to the music, but it is so faint that Qianqiao can barely hear it, and it does not seem like keeping in time with the music is any concern of Du Pusa’s, so they simply sway to their own rhythm. Standing this close, Qianqiao can see every detail in Du Pusa’s face, down to the tiny bump in the bridge of her nose and the gold flecks in her left iris.
Qianqiao doesn’t wonder why Du Pusa is here. She doesn’t wonder why her clothes don’t fit her, or why she walks with the posture of a master of martial arts, or why she has appeared specifically at the very balcony on which Qianqiao came out and yet doesn’t recognise her. In this moment, all she can think of is the look in Du Pusa’s eyes; dark, hungry, and searching for something from Qianqiao. They are the same height, it occurs to Qianqiao. All it would take would be leaning forward a few centimetres to -
Du Pusa whisks her around, twirling her under her arm. Qianqiao feels her dress billowing out beneath her, and her arm is stretched for a moment before she is whisked back into Du Pusa’s embrace.
The night air is cold and had bitten into her skin earlier, but Qianqiao feels heat flushing into her neck and rising up her face. The places where her hands meet Du Pusa’s feel very warm, and as Du Pusa pulls her in closer until Qianqiao’s body is flush against hers, her breath hitches and her lips part. Du Pusa lowers her into a deep dip, until Qianqiao can feel the cold hard banister beneath her...
And then they fall.
Qianqiao shrieks; she feels Du Pusa suck in a quick breath of air, but that might just be the wind rushing past them as they collide to the ground, and they’re falling so so fast she thinks they’re about to hit it right now and she squeezes her eyes tightly shut and waits to fatally hit the ground -
But instead of crushing to the bottom, Qianqiao is still in the air, and she doesn’t feel as if she’s falling down any more, it’s closer to flight than fall. She realises that she’s pressed herself tightly against Du Pusa’s chest, with one of Du Pusa’s arms in a vice-like grip around her waist to hold her together.
Qianqiao takes a breath to steady herself, and registers the wind continuing to rush past them. She peeks out from her position and sees that Du Pusa is carrying some strange, dark tool that looks a bit like those ropes and wires that Qianqiao’s seen in acrobatics shows from circuses that performed for the royal family. All the weight in her body seems to rise as they swoop up in a long, graceful arc, and land safely on the roof.
Qianqiao is still frozen for a moment. She can feel Du Pusa’s ragged breaths heaving through her clothes, and knows her breathing is probably even faster.
She thinks about the solid ground underneath her, and pulls back just a little bit so she can see Du Pusa’s face. The woman looks genuinely surprised. Albeit much less surprised like Qianqiao, but she seemed to do it more on instinct than of conscious thought.
“What was that?” Qianqiao asks. “You did that, right?”
Du Pusa nods mutely, taking a step away from her and extricating her from Qianqiao’s grasp. Qianqiao doesn’t realise how warm Du Pusa was until they are no longer touching, and goosebumps rise in her arms from where the night breeze chills them.
“I knew you were hiding something,” Qianqiao says, but it doesn’t come out as accusatory. More than anything else, she is beginning to feel pleased that her hunches were right. She wonders what else Du Pusa is hiding, apart from hiding tools on her body for ostensible escapes and gravity-defying feats. The thing Du Pusa used looked like a hook, but Qianqiao hasn’t seen it since they landed on the roof. She feels certain that Du Pusa’s hidden it away.
Qianqiao sits down on the roof, crossing her legs underneath her. Du Pusa sinks down with her, after a moment of hesitation.
“Is your name really Du Pusa?” She asks quietly.
“It’s one of them,” Du Pusa replies evenly. “I have many.”
“Tell me another one,” Qianqiao says, feeling emboldened by Du Pusa’s honesty.
“Some people call me Bodhisattva,” Du Pusa says, sounding a little nostalgic.
Qianqiao bows her head in acknowledgement, and they sit in silence for a while. The view is even better up on the roof than it is on the balcony, Qianqiao notices. From where they had been standing, there was a large expanse of palace grounds that probably spanned miles, but on the roof it seems impossibly larger. They’re high enough that if Qianqiao craned her head to look around, she might even be able to see the guests and wealthy socialites dancing and chatting on the other side of the palace, in the courtyard. She does not do this. The patch of sky above her and the enormous gardens beneath her, not to mention the beauty beside her, are enough to keep her content for a long, long while.
A flask is thrust in front of her face. Qianqiao blinks twice in rapid succession. “Would you like a drink?” Du Pusa asks. Qianqiao looks at her in a wordless question.
Du Pusa smiles at her. “Drinks are meant to be shared on beautiful nights like these, are they not?”
"You could have poisoned it," Qianqiao says easily, but she takes it all the same. She takes a sip of the clear liquid, and it burns her tongue but she knows immediately that it is safe. Her godmother, Luo Fumeng, is well-versed in poisons and medicines because she is the royal family's physician and had helped heal Qianqiao when she was young and ill on many occasions. After much pestering, begging and nagging, Luo Fumeng had agreed to teach some of what she knew to Qianqiao, and her parents had approved of anything that would increase their daughter's safety. Qianqiao had learned all about various poisons and herbs, including how to tell when food or drinks had been tampered with. Her parents were generally well-liked rulers, but there were occasional assassination attempts where their food was poisoned, so Luo Fumeng felt it was important to know how to tell when that happened and what the suitable antidotes were. Qianqiao had felt so excited learning about it but occasionally she would mix up her poisons and Luo Fumeng would have to intervene before something alarming happened. To young Qianqiao, the whole thing had seemed extremely fun.
Qianqiao takes a long swig out of the bottle, allowing a couple of drops to trickle down her chin. She can feel Du Pusa’s eyes tracking them; she feels loose and giddy, the alcohol creating a warm feeling in her stomach.
“Don’t drink too much of it, otherwise it’ll go down too fast and you’ll get drunk,” Du Pusa says, a hint of a warning in her voice.
Qianqiao ignores it. “Don’t worry! I’m not a lightweight. It’d take more than a little sip to stop me,” she smiles, remembering Du Pusa’s words from earlier.
“I won’t stop you then,” Du Pusa replies with an amused lilt.
Qianqiao is lying. She’d tried drinking only a few times before; a sip here and there at banquets, or a giggly night with Yu Qiufeng which had ended in headaches the morning after and bothersome questions about why she was so grumpy. But she was already relaxed and loose-lipped earlier, so alcohol probably shouldn’t make much difference.
“What’s your family like?” She asks Du Pusa. The woman looks a little startled by the question. Qianqiao didn’t think about it much. It just rolled out of her mouth.
Du Pusa begins slowly. “I… don’t really have a family,” she admits. “My parents died when I was very young. I had to learn to fend for myself.”
Qianqiao tilts her head. “What about friends?”
“I grew up on the streets. There weren’t many people who could be called friends.” Du Pusa’s tone is clipped. Qianqiao bumps her shoulder with her own.
“I don’t have many friends either,” she says honestly. “There weren’t many children I could play with, and the ones who did only wanted something from me instead of just being my friend.” She moves to take another sip of wine, and then notices that the bottle is no longer in her hand; it is in Du Pusa’s. She blinks in surprise and makes motions to snatch the bottle. Du Pusa holds it away from her grabbing hands, and chuckles. The noise is deep and throaty, and it catches Qianqiao off guard.
“I think you’ve had enough now,” Du Pusa says.
“But I only had one taste!” Qianqiao exclaims, her brows furrowing.
“You had a lot more than one taste,” Du Pusa says smugly. Qianqiao frowns and squints. There might have been a couple of sips she forgot about. Maybe a few. It can’t have been that many… although she does feel a little woozy.
Qianqiao narrows in on the bottle in Du Pusa’s hand and before Du Pusa can stop her, she lunges out and grabs it out of her relaxed grip.
She grins in triumph for a moment before lurching horribly as she looks down and realises she’s gone awfully close to the edge of the roof. She feels a strong hand on her arm, yanking her back from the edge and sending her tumbling into Du Pusa’s arms.
“Be careful, Qianqiao!” Du Pusa snaps at her, eyes blazing. “That’s it, no more wine for you.” She deftly takes the bottle from Qianqiao’s hand and throws it in a wide arc into the air. Qianqiao watches with her jaw hanging as the bottle sails through the sky and sinks into the darkness of the night. She hears the tiny tinkling sound of the bottle smashing, somewhere far below.
“You didn’t have to throw it,” she says to Du Pusa with a pout. “That was unnecessary.”
“So you wouldn’t have tried to take it again if I’d held onto it,” Du Pusa says drily.
Qianqiao sulks. “Well, when you put it like that…”
She suddenly feels dizziness strike her again, and she slumps into Du Pusa’s arms. She feels the strong arms steadying her, and a huff of warm breath hits her forehead before she is suddenly being swept up into Du Pusa’s arms.
Qianqiao’s head feels like it has been stuffed with cotton wool, and her eyes feel so heavy. Du Pusa is holding her in a bridal carry, she thinks, and through the haze of intoxication she feels a blush rising on her cheeks that isn’t just because of the alcohol.
Her eyes dip and are dragged down, and she fights to keep them open. Du Pusa’s body is very warm and so very comfortable, so it is difficult to stay awake. She feels Du Pusa moving, and what seems like only a few seconds later she feels a hot whisper against her ear. “Where can I take you to a safe place?”
Qianqiao murmurs sleepily, “On the second floor of the building that’s southwest of the pavilion… the room with the biggest balcony. Red curtains.”
A few minutes later, Qianqiao vaguely registers the soft landing of Du Pusa on a balcony. They have arrived at her bedroom. The latches for the balcony doors are locked, because who knows what kind of suspicious people could try to break into the Princess’ room - but Du Pusa opens them easily, and slips inside the dark room without so much as ruffling Qianqiao’s hair.
Qianqiao feels herself being carried over to the bed and then being lowered onto her bed. She hears a few faint noises, but it is as if the sounds are faint and far away. Having been tucked in with the blankets feeling thick and soft and wonderfully heavy, Qianqiao finally surrenders and sinks into sleep.