Chapter 16: The Second Night

Mo Zhenhai took the watch outside Master Feng's door himself.

He sat down on the step in his black robe with a naked sword across his knees and a jug of cold tea beside him.

"Go," he told his daughter without looking up. "I have guarded worse men than a coughing one."

Linxia hesitated.

"Go," he said again, and a smile creased his beard. "I'm old, not blind."

They went.

It was the last night before the festival, and the sect was loud with preparations.

Paper lanterns hung from every eave, red and white and gold, waiting to be lit.

Zhaoxue led the way along the quiet back path to her own room and slid the door shut behind them.

She turned the bolt.

The room was small and plain, with a narrow bed, a writing desk, and a shelf of ink stones.

She had lived in it for twenty-four years.

She had never once brought anyone into it.

Linxia stood in the middle of the floor with her arms hanging at her sides, still in the torn black robe, her hair half dried in a knot.

"I should wash," she said.

"Later."

Zhaoxue crossed the room and held up one hand.

She pointed her forefinger at the oil lamp on the desk.

It was the only thing she had ever been able to do, since childhood, the single bright spark in a body that held almost nothing.

A small yellow flame bloomed at the tip of the wick.

Linxia watched it, and her face softened.

"I've never seen you do that on purpose," she said.

"I do it when I'm happy. When I'm very happy. I'm usually not."

"Are you now?"

"Come here and find out."

Linxia came.

She did not grab this time.

She lifted her hands and touched Zhaoxue's face slowly.

Then Zhaoxue went up on her toes and kissed her.

It was soft at first, and deep, and unhurried, with the whole night in front of them.

Zhaoxue's fingers found the knot of the torn robe at Linxia's shoulder.

She worked it loose.

The black cloth slid down, and the lamplight touched brown skin, and the long scrape along the collarbone.

Zhaoxue bent and put her mouth against it very lightly.