“I had to make a new life on my own. Begging for work. Stitching my fingers to nubs.” She dashed across the ballroom, rescuing the shuttlecock just before it hit the floor. Her swing sent it rocketing upward, almost to the ceiling. He stood beneath the bundle of cork and feathers, waiting on it to swirl back to earth. “A rocket exploded in my face. I spent months near death. The scars left me a living monster. I quit opium by sheer force of will. My intended bride turned from me in revulsion. I’m still here.” He struck the shuttlecock, driving it into the parquet at her feet. “I win.” She put
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