Chapter Four: Contending for Supremacy (VIII)

Chapter Eight: Power and Beauty

Winter, 473 BC.

At Awaiting Your Return, Xiang Bao kept a dog, Ah Wang, and had picked up a boy from the street, naming him Ah Fu. Ah Fu chopped wood at Awaiting Your Return, but Xiang Bao treated him better than she did Ah Wang.

A heavy snow had just fallen, and the air was bitingly cold. The capital of Qi was blanketed in silver. Wrapped in thick clothing, Xiang Bao lounged on the counter, yawning; Ah Wang curled up at her feet, snoring. The door rattled, and Xiang Bao rubbed her eyes, watching as Wei Qin swept out yet another guest who had specifically asked for “Madam Xiang.”

“If you keep this up, we’ll have to close the place down…” Xiang Bao mumbled, half-asleep.

“I don’t think so,” Wei Qin replied, grinding her teeth, flashing a smile.

Xiang Bao glanced around the teahouse—how lively and bustling it was! Clearly, her knack for making money was second to none. She shook the bamboo teacup in her hand lazily; inside, dried chrysanthemums from autumn unfurled in the hot water, releasing a gentle warmth and a faint fragrance that drifted through the chill.

It had been a long time since Xiang Bao had suffered from nightmares.

Awaiting Your Return faced a busy street, and the constant stream of people had brought prosperity. It was, after all, the largest song and dance house in Qi. The little pearl she’d spent had surely been worth it; in three short years, the business had flourished.

Xiang Bao was content, delighted with her lot.

“Have you heard? The State of Wu has fallen.” From across the street, the murmur of conversation drifted over.

Her hand trembled; the bamboo cup rolled to the floor. Scalding water splashed onto her hand. She stared at the chrysanthemums blooming on her reddened skin, warm and soft.

“Xiang Bao, are you alright?” Wei Qin hurried over, brushing away the petals and examining the burn with care.

“Yes, that fatuous King Fuchai—he brought ruin for the sake of a beauty and finally received his comeuppance…”

“They say he covered his face with cloth and killed himself with a sword—claimed he was unworthy to see Minister Wu in the afterlife… If only he’d known, why do it in the first place…”

“A foolish king, indeed…”

The voices faded, but Xiang Bao felt as if she had fallen into an icy abyss.

She looked at the large sign above the door, “Awaiting Your Return,” and forced a faint smile. What a silly name. She habitually bit her lip, silent, feeling as though something had been hollowed out inside her.

“Madam Xiang! Madam Xiang!” Ah Fu burst in, shouting.

Xiang Bao looked up in a daze at the dark-skinned boy calling her “Madam Xiang,” not “Xiang Bao.” It was all an illusion of her own making, a lie to herself. The past was past; no matter how she imitated, she could never go back.

She was, after all, a fool covering her ears to steal a bell.

“Madam Xiang, there’s a drunk outside—looks like he’s about to freeze!” Ah Fu tugged her hand, urging her out.

Xiang Bao followed, puzzled. Outside, there was nothing but an empty wine flask.

“He was just here! I called to him, but he didn’t answer—hair all in disarray, wrapped in a tattered cloth…” Ah Fu scratched his head, pointing to a heap of dingy rags in the corner. “That’s it!”

Xiang Bao bent down and picked up what was once a robe, now unrecognizable in color, just as Ah Fu had said—a rag, really. But that rag was so familiar.

She had made it, once, to please someone.

“Madam Xiang, shall we look for him?” Ah Fu pleaded, unable to ignore such things, perhaps because he too had once been found and taken in.

“No need.” Xiang Bao turned and walked back inside, tossing the rag into the small bronze stove by the counter. She stared, lost in thought, as the flames devoured it. Soon, nothing remained.

Frustrated, Xiang Bao declared, “No more business today. Close up, I’m going to bed.” She left for her room.

Ah Fu hesitated. As Xiang Bao retired, Wei Qin, finally free from an insistent female guest, came over. Since Wei Qin had started managing the place, many women had come just to drink tea and chat.

Ah Fu shrugged, still bewildered.

All the guests were sent away; Awaiting Your Return was closed for the day.

On the street outside, a disheveled man stumbled past, searching for something he could not find. He slumped against a wall and looked up at the tightly closed doors across the street. The sign, “Awaiting Your Return,” shone dazzlingly in the winter sun.

As soon as she entered her room, Xiang Bao caught a strange scent. Before she could react, her limbs turned to lead, and she collapsed, powerless. She stared, wide-eyed, at the Yue woman seated on her bed—dressed all in black, ghostly and silent.

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to kill you. My brother, the king, sent me to bring you back to Yue,” she said, rising to stand at Xiang Bao’s side.

Xiang Bao tried to speak, but no sound emerged.

“It’s only temporary,” the woman assured her.

That day, Goujian had said, “When Yue is restored, I shall welcome you home.”

Three days of swift travel in a carriage brought them to the back gate of the King of Yue’s residence.

The back gate—of course. Xiang Bao’s lips curled coldly. She was still someone to be hidden away.

“Go in. My brother awaits you.”

She found she could move again. As soon as she stepped out, attendants came to escort her inside.

If it must be faced, so be it—life or death, let it be.

The scenery was unchanged. She remembered that day in the gardens, during a grand banquet, when she had met Fan Li for the first time, her face painted thick with makeup.

Now, the place was the same, but the people utterly different.

As a patrol of guards passed, someone seized her, covering her mouth and dragging her into a corner.

She struggled, but a familiar voice whispered, “Don’t move, it’s me.”

Wen Zhong?

He released her, and she turned to see it was indeed Wen Zhong.

“Come with me,” he said, offering no further explanation. He led her out a side gate.

A carriage stood waiting beyond the walls.

“Go,” Wen Zhong said.

Xiang Bao turned to look at the unremarkable carriage. The driver was in rags, a battered hat pulled low, his face wrapped in cloth—head bowed, eyes hidden.

Something about him felt off.

“Shaobo has resigned,” Wen Zhong said. “He’s looking for you.”

She only nodded.

Wen Zhong handed her a red silk veil. She felt it was familiar, but couldn’t place it at first.

“Don’t remember? Lady Jun found it among the king’s robes.”

She froze—it was the veil she’d worn when she first performed at Stay Drunk for the King. Goujian had traded a pearl just to see her face to face. This red veil… he had kept it all this time?

“Knowing the king had asked the princess to invite you back, Lady Jun told me to wait here for you. Go,” Wen Zhong said gently.

Xiang Bao smiled—so that was it.

She let the red veil slip from her hand; the wind caught it and carried it away.

“Xishi is a bringer of ruin, an ill-omened woman. As you and Lady Jun wish, Xiang Bao is just Xiang Bao. I will never return to Yue.”

Wen Zhong hesitated, his expression uneasy.

“If the king asks…”

“Tell him what I said. The king belongs to the world; Fuchai is mine alone. In life or death, through all worlds…”

She didn’t notice that the carriage driver stiffened at her words.

Having spoken her piece, Xiang Bao felt her eyes sting, moved by her own resolve. She climbed into the carriage and drew the curtain.

“Ziqin,” she called softly.

Wen Zhong paused.

“Thank you for visiting my sister.”

For the past three years, on every anniversary of Mo Li’s death, Xiang Bao had returned in secret, always finding her sister’s grave swept clean.

The driver snapped the whip, and the carriage sped away from the King of Yue’s residence.

Xiang Bao sat quietly, watching the palace recede. Inside, a king waited for her, gentle-faced but with ambition as vast as the sky.

He had said, “I want both the world and beauty.”

He had said, “When Yue is restored, I will bring you home.”

He called himself “the lonely one”—the solitary king.

The carriage raced on as dusk fell. Xiang Bao, watching the driver, grew uneasy. With Lady Jun’s methods, it couldn’t be so easy to let her go. And why would the driver hide his face so completely?

The deeper the night, the greater the danger. She must act first. Clenching a silver hairpin in her hand, she crept close to the driver, who remained oblivious.

She pressed the sharp hairpin to his throat. “Stop the carriage.”

He pulled the reins; the horse reared and halted.

Xiang Bao leapt down. “Who are you?”

He was silent.

“Mute?” Annoyed, she demanded, “Uncover your face!”

But before he could, a voice called out from the darkness, “Well, well, a fat sheep passing by so late…”

The line was so familiar. Xiang Bao froze—it was just like the bandits on Mount Fujiao.

Turning, she saw a band of ruffians, the leader’s face brutish and bearded.

“Look, a delicate little lady,” cackled a man with huge buck teeth.

The lines hadn’t changed. Xiang Bao sighed—trouble upon trouble.

The horse sensed danger, stamping nervously. Xiang Bao looked around—wilderness in all directions. Shouting was useless.

The driver stroked the horse’s neck, calming it instantly, which surprised Xiang Bao.

“Boss, let’s take her back for the brothers to enjoy,” the buck-toothed man leered, making Xiang Bao nauseous.

“Good idea!” The bandits jeered.

Her hand trembled. In desperation, she hid behind the driver, feeling oddly reassured.

“Hey, there’s another one!” the bandits laughed.

“Help me…” she whispered to the driver, forgetting she’d just threatened him.

He remained silent. Truly mute, she thought, disheartened.

“Who are you?” The leader eyed the driver warily.

Still silent, the driver dismounted.

Xiang Bao glared at his back. Was he running away? Leaving her behind?

The bandits, thinking he’d surrendered, laughed uproariously.

“Master, you have all the money in the world, but don’t leave Bao’er alone…” Xiang Bao wailed dramatically, hoping to keep him from abandoning her.

“All that money?” The buck-toothed man’s eyes gleamed.

The bandits advanced on the driver. Xiang Bao quietly tightened the reins, ready to flee.

Suddenly, cold light flashed. The driver drew his sword and attacked, silent and deadly. Xiang Bao froze.

This scene… was so familiar.

He moved like a king among men, his swordplay eerily beautiful—like a dance.

Xiang Bao’s heart clenched.

Soon, silence fell. Only the buck-toothed bandit remained, trembling, his bravado gone.

“If you beg, I’ll spare you,” said the driver.

Xiang Bao was stunned by his voice.

“Pl-please…” the bandit stammered.

The driver sighed. “You won’t beg?”

“I beg you, I beg you!” the bandit wailed.

The scene from Mount Fujiao flashed before Xiang Bao’s eyes. She braced herself for the killing blow, but after a long pause, nothing happened. She opened her eyes to see the bandit cowering in a puddle, alive.

He’d shown mercy?

Was it really different now?

The driver turned to her, his tall figure in the moonlight so like someone she knew.

She gritted her teeth, stepped forward, and snatched off his hat. Long, unbound hair tumbled over his shoulders, glinting blue-black under the moon.

His narrow eyes met hers, smiling.

“Are you going to spend your life wrapped in that rag?” she demanded.

His eyes sparkled with laughter as he untied the cloth from his face.

She stopped breathing.

It was really him.

He leaned in, burying his face in her neck, breathing her in deeply. “Bao’er… I’ve lost my kingdom…” he whispered, as if saying, “I’m home.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Her voice trembled.

“Yes, but I was worried my Bao’er would cry, so I escaped from the underworld…” He laughed softly. “Did you cry?”

“Who would cry for you…” she muttered.

He laughed.

“Who died in your place?” she asked. Rumor had it he’d covered his face before killing himself, claiming he couldn’t face Wu Zixu in the afterlife. She should have known—such a proud man would never admit fault. The words didn’t matter; the mask was key. With his face hidden, who knew who had actually died?

“My Bao’er is so clever.” He chuckled.

She knew he was teasing her for the “master” and “all the money in the world” nonsense she’d spouted earlier.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked.

“I’m smart.”

“And the real driver?”

“Killed him,” he admitted.

She bowed her head, understanding—the driver must have been sent by Lady Jun to kill her.

“Bao’er, I have no home left…” he murmured, holding her close.

“I’ve taken in Ah Fu and Ah Wang, what’s one more?” she pouted.

“Who’s Ah Fu? And Ah Wang?” Fuchai frowned.

“Ah Fu chops wood, Ah Wang… guards the house…”

“Guards the house? Why?”

“Silly, Ah Wang is a dog!”

“Bao’er…”

“Yes?”

When Xiang Bao and Fuchai returned to Awaiting Your Return, Wei Qin was gone. Ah Fu said Wei Qin had left after smelling something strange in Xiang Bao’s room.

Wei Qin never returned.

Xiang Bao wondered if he had gone off with the Yue woman. If so, that would be wonderful.

She had always wished him happiness, though she could not give it to him.

Fuchai grinned like a cat with cream when he saw the golden sign “Awaiting Your Return.” Xiang Bao regretted choosing such a foolish name.

“Sweet dreams are easiest to break; one dream is three lifetimes gone…” Across the street, an old storyteller raised his fan and began, “Let me tell you of Wu and Yue, and the king who lost his kingdom for a beauty!”

A crowd gathered.

“By the Pavilion of Pleasure the mandarin ducks nested, yet heroes are helpless before love… Fuchai built the Pavilion of Pleasure…” The old man’s voice rang out, lively and vivid.

The crowd grew.

Xiang Bao lay dozing on the counter, listening to the old man’s enthusiastic performance.

“The king willingly went into the trap; a hero who loved beauty more than his land—he burned the Pavilion of Pleasure, was defeated at Lize…”

Xiang Bao looked up lazily. Fuchai lounged nearby, chin in hand, watching her, eyes half-closed, lips curled in a slight, warm smile, still roguishly clad in imperial yellow.

“Big words, but he was just a fallen king!” someone jeered.

“Exactly! They say Fuchai was foolish, bewitched by Xishi, and killed his loyal minister Wu Zixu…”

Fuchai kept gazing at Xiang Bao, oblivious to the hubbub.

“All for a woman—he brought heaven’s wrath on himself…”

“Right, and they say he covered his face and killed himself, saying he couldn’t face Wu Zixu in the underworld…”

“Idiot king…”

Xiang Bao bit her lip, looked at him. “Your lifetime’s reputation, ruined in an instant—are you content?”

Fuchai raised an eyebrow, lips curving. “Reputation? I never had any.”

Smiling eyes, smiling lips.

Xiang Bao wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing in the sunlight, and kissed him soundly.

“They say, in their rage, the people of Wu stuffed Xishi into a sack and threw her into the river. Fan Li led soldiers into Gusu, but found only news of her death, then resigned and vanished…”

At some point, the crowd dispersed.

Xiang Bao curled in Fuchai’s arms and fell asleep.

In 472 BC, King Goujian of Yue gave Wen Zhong the “Shu Lou” sword; Wen Zhong took his own life.

When the birds are gone, the bow is put away; when the cunning rabbit dies, the hound is cooked.

That gentle man in white, he had seen it all so clearly…

Another spring came.

A strange merchant appeared in Qi, with an odd name—Chi Yi Zi Pi. He had astonishing talent for business, amassing a vast fortune in just a few years. The King of Qi invited him to Linzi and offered him the rank of prime minister, but he refused and left.

In those days, merchants were the lowest of the four classes—scholars, farmers, artisans, merchants—so his choice was surprising.

This odd man said he had a fiancée—a little money-grubber.

He later settled in Tao, amassed great wealth, and became known as Tao Zhu Gong, the richest man under heaven.

He finally became the wealthiest of all, but…

He lost her.

He had all the money in the world, but no one to spend it with.

He had once said he liked Xiang Bao.

He had once said he would never abandon her for anything in the world; she was more important than life itself.

He swore: If Fan Li ever abandons Xiang Bao, he will live alone all his days.

Such a resolute oath.

He kept his word.

After Yue conquered Wu, Goujian’s prestige soared; he crossed the Huai and summoned the lords of Qi, Song, Jin, and Lu to Xuzhou. The Zhou king sent envoys to name him “Overlord.” Goujian was now the last hegemon of the Spring and Autumn era.

But that age was ending. What followed would be the tales of the Warring States…