A Song to Drown Rivers

by Ann Liang

They say that when I was born, all the wild geese flew down from the sky, and the fish sank beneath the waves, having forgotten how to swim.

I have always found such stories to be laughably exaggerated, but they prove the same thing: that my beauty was something unnatural, transcending nature itself. And that beauty is not so different from destruction.

The stranger stories claim that my mother had been washing silk on this very river when she was struck by a pearl, and soon after became pregnant with me.

“In the Wu Kingdom,” he said, “we have a saying about people who can’t mind their own business: They often die unpleasant deaths.”

“You have no right to speak to me,” the stranger replied calmly.

Oh hehe

The mind destroys; the heart devours.

“You saved me,” I pointed out. “And we don’t know each other.” “Yes, but I was certain I would be in no danger. Protecting your interests could not have harmed mine.” He glanced at me sidelong, though I pretended not to see it. “It is quite a different thing to help someone when it puts yourself at risk.”

I would know.

“I do not need the silk to remember you,” he said, so quiet I barely heard him, but accepted my offering with a small dip of his head. “If fate wills it, may we meet again.”

“If you do succeed, Xishi,” he said quietly, “you will be the savior of our kingdom. You will forever alter the course of history.”

“If you agree to the mission, I won’t be the one helping you. You’ll be the one helping me.” I stared at him, my humor vanishing, my pulse striking faster in my veins. “I am the one who needs you.” He said it like a grave confession. “I am the one who suggested the plan to His Majesty, who is responsible for organizing this mission. Without you, I will fail.”

And how many people under Heaven were really fortunate enough to know happiness? Happiness was a side dish, like the sweet, sticky rice cakes Mother made during the festivals, or the glutinous balls stuffed with rich sesame paste. But revenge—that was the salt of life. Necessary. Essential.

“Then I will be waiting for you at the eastern gates, where the river flows. The same place we met.”

One could live with almost anything, so long as they had something to live for.

Fanli had left the house already. The tea was all but cold now, the leaves sunk to the bottom, the water deepening to a murky, bitter green. All the cups were still full. A waste.

If my beauty was of the destructive kind, his was a beauty that pressed exquisitely close to sorrow; something as cold and untouchable as the stars scattered overhead.

“I do not take your choice tonight lightly,” he said, his voice hushed.

How fitting that the one who saved my life should now be the one to lead me away from it.

We traveled in darkness, guided only by the song of the river.

“Oh, I forget: You were once like them too, weren’t you, Fanli?”

“You are thinking,” he said slowly, looking out at the courtyard instead, “of something you know you should not.”

“You’re not made of mud.” “No?” “You are made of flowers,” she said decisively, crawling onto my lap. She was getting too heavy to do so, but I sat back without protest and let her anyway, stroking her soft hair, inhaling the sweet milk scent of her skin. I would protect her with my life, I thought to myself. “And rainwater. And silk. And lanterns. You are made of good things.”

I could not decide which appearance suited him more: god of war, or muse of poets. To me, he was both.

I turned around, grinning, to Fanli. See? I wished to gloat. I can do it after all. “Good” was all he said. But he was staring at my hands.

In a world where everyone will demand something from you, it requires a certain degree of selfishness to be happy, you know.”

“We are most tempted by what we cannot have.

When men say they want a lover, what they often mean is they want a mirror; they wish to see themselves reflected back at them in the best light.

“Often, before a battle,” he said, “I would climb somewhere high with a view such as this.”

“That way, it was easy to remember how small my existence really was. It did not matter if I was afraid, or in pain, or if I was to die on the battlefield. What mattered was what lay ahead of me.”

I felt a strange roaring in my blood, a kind of drifting away from my own body, until I was not blood and flesh but the things that mountain soil and river water and starlight are made of.

“Am I all that you hoped I could be?” “You are…,” Fanli began, then trailed off. Swallowed. He angled his head away from me, toward the wall, so I could see the strain in his jaw. His breathing was uneven. It grew less steady the closer I drew. I do not know what gave me the nerve, but I grabbed his chin. Gently.

GIRLLLLLL

“Why would you be dusting the upper shelves? That’s work for servants, not palace ladies, and certainly not concubines.”

Oh!

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I will remember you.”

Zhengdan’s eyes were bright with fear. “Don’t,” she said again. “It’s poison.”

“Girls like me are not made for love; we are made to be wanted.” Then she cast me a careful, sidelong look from under her heavy lids, and amended: “Girls like us.”

“It was a competition between my palace lady and my general. Both are mine. No matter the outcome, I still win.”

Fanli. Flesh of my heart, light of my sun. He was here, in the enemy kingdom.

I could have bolted from the king’s side, run to him, thrown my arms around him, damn all the consequences. I could have kissed him as if history did not exist, as if war was only myth. I could have grazed my fingertips over the line of his cheekbones, taken his slender hand in my own. Could, could, could. All those possibilities opening up again, blooming in his presence. But instead we remained in our respective positions, like two perfect strangers.

His complexion was pale and drenched in sweat, his mouth stained with his own blood. Yet I could’ve sworn his lips tugged up, the look on his face something like pride.

“I said your name. When he kissed me, I … I said your name.”

It wasn’t just her clothes, but her. She was lying sprawled on the ground, her eyes half-open. Her skin was a terrible color, paler than death.

The girl who should have lived a hundred summers, burning as bright as a comet in the sky.

“Comfort me, Xishi. I’m in excruciating pain.”

Lmfao byeeee

“Don’t be mad at me anymore, all right?” he said quietly. “I can’t stand it.”

“Anything for you, my Xishi.”

“Will you please do me a final favor?” Zixu asked, hoarse. Fuchai tilted his head. “When I am dead,” Zixu began, his fingers wavering just a moment over the sword, “cut out my eyes. Hang them on the city gates, so that I may watch when the Yue army invades and captures our capital.”

“When the hares have all been caught, the hunting dogs are cooked.”

Without another word, Fuchai lifted the blankets and wrapped them around my shoulders. Then he held me. There was no lust in it, no provocation, no ulterior motive—just a simple gesture of comfort.

“Is somebody bothering you? Who? I’ll kill them.”

Goals

“Would you like me to show you, then, how I act around him?”