Chapter 14: Her Mother's Tea Stall

The tea stall stood where it always stood, at the corner of a lane by the canal, under a patched blue awning.

Ruoxi's mother was pouring for a boatman when she looked up.

She saw her daughter on the road with a loaf of bread and no spoon.

She finished pouring first.

She took the boatman's coin, wiped her hands on her apron, and said, "Come inside."

The back room was small and warm and smelled of dried tea leaves and charcoal.

Ruoxi sat on the low stool she had used as a child.

Her mother coughed, a dry, tired sound, and sat opposite her.

"You are not due home for a month," she said.

"I've left the post."

"Did they dismiss you?"

"No."

Ruoxi pushed the heel of her hand into her eyes.

"I found out what it was. There was never anything to guard against. Six years, and nobody ever tried to poison her."

"The princess made up the post herself, when she was sixteen, because she wanted somebody to eat dinner with."

Her mother said nothing for a while.

The kettle ticked on the stove.

"And you thought," her mother said at last, "that you had been saving her life."

"Yes."

"Every day."

"Every day, Ma. I counted. I threw out so many bad dishes, and I was so proud, and it was a game."

"I was the only one who didn't know it was a game."

"Mm."

"Don't say mm."

"What would you like me to say?"

"That it's cruel."

Her mother folded her hands.

"Let me tell you what I know," she said.

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