A familiar scent wafted from it. “Jujubes!” Lan exclaimed. “We used to steal—I mean, hoard—them from our kitchens. They were expensive, and the Madam was stingy.” Something softened in Zen’s face. “Drink it,” he said. “Our Master of Medicine advises boiled jujubes for…for girls…at certain…certain times.” In the firelight, his cheeks had reddened, and he averted his gaze from hers, suddenly busying himself with gathering the fú and tucking them back into his silk pouch.
