Chapter 54 — After the Performance
CHAPTER 54
After the Performance
“Brother Shi!” Zheng Wenbo raised his cup across the table, acting the generous elder, though he was only three years older. “Some men chase fortune their whole lives. You found yours sitting at your own table!”
Three hours into the reception, the hall was loud with wine. The host had invited half the idle young talents of the capital and called it an “intimate gathering.” Behind every screen, someone was looking for an excuse to walk past Shi Feng and Ling Qingzhu.
“Look at them,” a young noble whispered by the screen. “Fairy Ling is practically leaning on him.”
“It must be a show for the crown prince’s spies.”
“Then she’s a very good actress. Look at her hand!”
Ling Qingzhu heard every word. She kept her eyes pleasant above the veil and pressed her thumb against her cup. Shi Feng’s expression stayed calm as he drank a little water.
Zheng Wenbo was only a Qi Condensation cultivator. Shi Feng could have knocked him through the screen with one hand. But a stupid remark wasn’t worth spoiling supper, Shi Feng thought.
Zheng Wenbo, red-faced with wine, took the silence as an invitation.
“Don’t you worry you’ll wake up one morning and find it was all a dream?” Zheng Wenbo asked loudly.
“Is your wife imaginary too?” Shi Feng asked.
The woman seated beside Zheng Wenbo put down her cup. Slowly, she turned her head toward her husband.
Zheng Wenbo’s laugh died halfway out of his mouth. His wife’s expression was terrible. The nearby tables were stunned into silence, and nobody dared to laugh along and save him.
“He actually said that to a Qi Condensation cultivator’s face?”
“His wife is sitting right there!”
“Quiet! She’s looking this way!”
“…”
Ling Qingzhu knew she should scold Shi Feng. Instead she stared at her plate, grateful that the veil hid her grin. This is improper, she thought. Very improper. And I can’t make myself regret it.
Later a servant brought a cushion for her chair and none for Shi Feng’s. Shi Feng took the cushion, set it under her, and went back to listening. He acted like the insult didn’t exist.
“My husband needs a cushion too,” Ling Qingzhu said to the servant, her eyes sweet above her veil. “Now, please.”
Qin Song, the serving boy, turned pale. “Yes, Fairy Ling! Right away!” Qin Song stammered, and ran. Ling Qingzhu was angrier on Shi Feng’s behalf than Shi Feng was himself. He didn’t even seem to notice. That annoyed her even more!
In the carriage, Ling Qingzhu leaned her head back against the cushion.
“Did you hear what they called you?” Ling Qingzhu asked. “Fortune-seeker. Rice-eater. Fairy Ling’s pet. Pet! I should’ve tipped wine on his head.”
“The pet part is new,” Shi Feng said.
“You’re really not angry? Not even a little?” Ling Qingzhu asked, turning to look at him.
“Why would I be? Only people who matter can insult me,” Shi Feng said. “Those were just noises from a loud hall.”
Ling Qingzhu fell silent. Fool, she thought. What kind of man calls that noise?
By the time the carriage reached home, her silver hair ornament was digging into the same sore spot it had dug at all evening. Shi Feng opened the courtyard gate. The familiar pear tree rose out of the darkness, and Ling Qingzhu’s shoulders sank before she even stepped inside.
The little house had only one room, and tonight it felt like the best room in the world. She went in, removed her veil, unfastened a hair clasp and sat on her bed with a sigh.
“You could have been nicer,” Ling Qingzhu said, rubbing her neck as Shi Feng followed her in. “His father sits on the Board of Rites. Men like that hold grudges.”
“Neither will his wife,” Shi Feng said.
“That’s not an answer, and you know it,” Ling Qingzhu said, and turned away.
“Then here’s one. He should have been less interested in my bed,” Shi Feng said. He glanced at the bundle of floor bedding in the corner and added, “Not that it’s much of a bed.”
She laughed before she could stop herself.
It wasn’t the polite laugh she’d given the guests all evening. Shi Feng heard the difference, and he was glad they’d left early. That’s her first real laugh tonight, he thought.
He went to the kitchen. There was leftover rice, a little broth, and enough ginger to make something warm. The reception had served six fancy dishes and almost no real supper. He’d watched her push the wine aside and barely touch the platter nearest her.
While the pot warmed, a faint metal click came from the room, then silence.
“Is it stuck?” Shi Feng called, setting down the bowl.
“A little. Don’t laugh!” Ling Qingzhu said. One last ornament was tangled in her hair, and she refused to pull hard enough to make the knot worse.
He brought the small mirror from the shelf and held it where she could see the clasp. She found the twisted strand and freed it, looking far too pleased with herself for a woman just home from a banquet.
Black hair fell over her shoulders. Shi Feng stood holding the mirror long after she finished.
“Are you keeping that for yourself?” Ling Qingzhu asked.
He handed it over. She caught his foolish expression in the bronze and smiled.
Shi Feng put the mirror back before he could stare. What’s wrong with me, he thought. This is a contract!
When he came back from the kitchen with the bowl, she’d slipped off her outer silk robe. In plain sleeves, she made the little room feel quieter.
“No bitter greens,” Shi Feng said.
Ling Qingzhu looked into the broth.
“You remembered,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Fine, I’m touched. Don’t let it go to your head.”
“You pick them out every time,” Shi Feng said.
She ate. The ginger warmed her much better than the reception’s expensive wine ever could. He sat on his bedding across from her and loosened the knot at his cuff, where the stiff posture of the evening had rubbed his wrist raw.
For the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, neither of them was performing for anyone. Then Shi Feng stood up to wash the pot.
“You can stop being a statue now. Nobody’s watching,” Ling Qingzhu said, not looking at him.
His hand paused under the water.
“I’m washing a pot,” Shi Feng said calmly.
The answer made her feel foolish. She put down her spoon, unsure whether to apologise for something he never heard.
He heard it.
Shi Feng said nothing, but in his heart he understood. He liked seeing her back relax when the gate closed. He liked hearing what she really thought after a night of fake smiles. He’d saved the broth because she was hungry, and held the mirror because her hair was caught. Neither of those was written in the agreement.
That didn’t mean he’d explain himself tonight.
Ling Qingzhu carried her empty bowl to the basin. Their hands almost touched when he took it, and neither of them pulled away as fast as they should have.
“That man was rude,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Rude and boring. I counted his cups.”
Shi Feng glanced up. “Yes,” Shi Feng said.
“I wanted to say it earlier. Even a veil can’t hide how boring they are,” Ling Qingzhu said.
He nodded and didn’t make a big deal of it. She stayed beside him while he rinsed the bowl, then picked up the drying cloth. This time he let her use it.
Back in the room, the lamp burned low to save oil, and a cup of clean water stood beside the bed. His bedding was already unrolled on the floor in its corner, a careful distance from her chest at the foot of the bed.
When had all these little things become so familiar? She couldn’t remember when he started doing them.
He’s just careful, Ling Qingzhu told herself. He took a big payment, and he’s too proud to do the job badly. There was no reason to read anything more into plain diligence.
Her heart gave an odd little jump. She grabbed her nightclothes and ducked behind the folding screen a little too quickly.
“Don’t look! I mean it!” Ling Qingzhu said from behind it.
“I’m lying on the floor staring at the ceiling,” Shi Feng said. “The ceiling’s very interesting tonight.”
Silence. Then the faint rustle of silk, and one tiny snort that she tried to hide.
Just before the lamp went out, Ling Qingzhu spoke quietly from behind the curtain. “One of Sima Yu’s stewards visited the Hengyun pass office yesterday to ask how often our household pass had crossed the gate. Be careful on the mountain road tomorrow.”
Shi Feng’s eyes opened in the dark. Even as warmth lingered in his chest, he set his sword an inch closer to his mat.