Chapter 14
Ruilin~
There comes a time when granting someone their space is no longer kindness, but rings of cold indifference.
It has been two whole weeks since I brought Yi Nuo into the Phoenix Realm’s scarlet-pillared Liang Yu palace, and she still hides behind the carved wooden door to the bedchamber that once belonged to my nursemaid.
Our chambers share the same perfumed corridor, mere heartbeats apart—I could hear her soft sobs if she cried, though the walls remain maddeningly quiet and still.
She doesn’t cry.
I have looked at what remained on her trays following her meals. All that is missing are little mouse-sized bites. She nibbles at the jade bowls of rice, chestnut pastries, and honeyed melon—just enough so that Lue Lue, her devoted handmaiden, won’t fret. Lue Lue has taken to treating Yi Nuo as her only Mistress—appropriately so, at least until I wed Princess Changying.
At first, I’d resolved to keep Yi Nuo a secret, fearing my family’s censure. But I imagined how Princess Changying—graceful, fair-minded Princess Changying—would handle this delicate debt. She would never have allowed Yi Nuo, the girl who saved my life, to endure exile just because of her mortality, to languish unacknowledged and discarded as if she were nothing.
So, as my future wife surely would, I chose honesty and told everyone about Yi Nuo.
Candles flickered against the rosewood lattice screens as I told them: how she had discovered me bleeding and unconscious beneath the temple pagoda, how she’d tended my wounds, how she had lost her home at the convent and family to sinister soldiers who killed everyone in their path.
I had braced for Father’s wrath—his rare but fierce rebukes—but he only set down his porcelain cup with a quiet nod. Even my eldest sister, First Princess Lian Xu, visiting with her husband Zhang He, declared my act both noble and fitting for a deity who must show compassion to mortals and immortals alike, especially one serving as a nun apprentice for cultivation.
Consort Lie Xi, my stepmother, could not resist a thinly veiled barb about the impropriety of an unmarried girl dwelling so close to me. She suggested transferring Yi Nuo to my pampered younger sister An Lan, where she might fill a servant role. But Father’s voice cut through the murmurs: “Ruilin is in her debt. Until Yi Nuo fully recovers from her shock, she must remain where she feels safest.”
He reminded them that our loyalty binds us unbreakable when a Phoenix forges a marriage love bond, as I have with Princess Changying. Infidelity was not a concern.
“Better the mortal stays with Ruilin,” Smoking his after-dinner pipe, he said with a wry half-smile, “than risk our foolish son Feng Ming—ever drawn to mortals’ feminine charms—seeing, fancying, and forming his Phoenix bond with her.” That remark left my stepmother white-faced, like the rice cake that had dropped from her mouth, leaving her speechless.
Standing before the open terrace that overlooks the gardens, I spoke aloud so Yi Nuo could hear: “What a glorious morning. Look at that sunlight dancing on jade tiles, and this wonderful scent of the flowers in bloom. A shame to stay cooped away like some moody sparrow when a meal fit for a queen waits untouched.”
I turned to Leyang and beckoned him into the conversation. He cleared his throat and offered, “Perhaps Yi Nuo believes others enjoy doing work for nothing and is heartless—”
Before he could finish, I summoned a slender spear of flame between my fingers. It arced through the air, flying between the smooth horns of his forehead, singeing a perfect line through his hair. Sparks rained around us. He yelped in pain and shock, stumbling back, fingers pressed to the sting.
“You—!” I snarled, my jaw tight. “I was encouraging her to come out of the room, you fool, not calling her heartless! Think before you open your mouth.” I shook my head in disbelief.
He has all the smoothness of a grumpy porcupine.
I was about to launch into another tirade when I heard the door. I watched the door slowly creak open, hesitating as if she debated whether to step out. She finally emerged through the narrow gap of the intricately carved walnut doors, shyly peering outside while wearing one of my meimei’s old dresses, which somehow looked even better on her.
Leyang gasped and exclaimed more loudly than necessary or proper, “Wow! She’s stunning!” I shot him a disapproving look, reminding him of his manners. “Be respectful. Yi Nuo is our guest.”
Her feelings are foremost. I don’t rush or force her to move out of her comfort zone faster than she’s comfortable or ready. Instead, I extend my hand to her and say, “Come on, Yi Nuo! Everyone is excited to meet you, and I’d love to introduce you to them all.”
Yi Nuo~
Ruilin and that Leyang boy with the horns sit under a massive white tree, and I am overwhelmed by all of it. I have seen nothing like it. It stands impossibly tall, a tower of pale bark. It is not ashy gray, but as white as first snow, so white it seems to glow with its light. The tree’s crooked branches are covered in blood-red leaves shaped like hearts. The stark color contrast reminds me of a poppy flower in the snow.
My eyes follow their path up the sheer height of the bark, and Ruilin tracks my gaze. “This is a Liànrén tree,” he declares. “The tree of lovers.”
Leyang, rubbing the clean line of exposed flesh between his singed hair, teases Ruilin. “Two names carved together on that tree mean eternal love. Unless one of them changes their mind, which Princess Changying might do when she finds out you are still sleeping with your baby blanket.”
Ruilin ignores him.
“When Princess Changying and I marry,” he says, “we’ll carve our names into it. The leaves will never fall off as long as we love each other.” Another glance at Leyang, who sulks. “It’s a magical tree,” Ruilin explains, then urges. “Come. Everyone is eager to meet you.”
His voice is bright and warm, and it sounds so reassuring. His perpetually smiling eyes meet mine with a sincerity that melts my hesitation. He acts like the entire household is present, though he’s standing there with only the horned boy, Leyang. I glance over his shoulder, seeing no one else, expecting the rest of the family to surge around the corner.
They don’t.
I slowly shuffle toward him, my feet dragging on the wide stone path, my gaze fixed on the space between us. Pausing briefly, I drink in the vibrant scene, the tree’s blinding white trunk. Reaching him, Ruilin rises, enveloping me in his warmth, his hands firm yet gentle on my shoulders. He gently turns me, positioning himself behind.
A serene koi pond almost surrounds the snow-white tree, a protective moat that exposes only the marble walkway. The water shimmers, the koi flashing like jewels beneath the surface. Beyond this tranquil scene, expansive gardens and courtyards stretch endlessly, lush greenery and a riot of flowers in every imaginable hue.
Their boundaries seem nonexistent. I’ve never witnessed such gardens, nor could I have imagined such beauty. The dazzling array of colors is almost devastatingly exquisite, each flower a dancer in a breathtaking dance, each vying for attention with its unique beauty.
He clears his throat, louder than before, as if calling to the sun. “Everyone, listen up,” he commands. “This is Yi Nuo, my friend, and she will be staying with us for a while.” Though the audience remains invisible and absent, his booming declaration travels across the courtyard.
“While she’s with us, everyone must be helpful and kind,” he insists, his voice echoing like a gong.
The pond answers for him, with splashes and sounds. Fish with red, black, orange, and white scales break the surface in synchronized bursts, flicking water into the air. Their tails send waves that lap over the banks, sending ripples throughout the water.
“That’s the stuff I’m talking about! None of these shenanigans!” He wags his finger at the pond like a scolding parent. Droplets catch the light, painting my dress with random bursts, and I start to wipe away the wetness when it happens.
Giggles, bright and bell-like, carry themselves straight to my ears. I look again, this time with eyes that can’t believe. There, where the fish had been, are children, each vivid and impossible.
They stand in the water up to their waists, their tiny faces, hair in buns and ponytails on top of their heads, and bodies still marked in colors—orange, black, red, and white. The fish have become little girls and boys with smiling eyes and mouths wide with laughter. They hang over the pond’s edges, their fins now fingers, tiny and curling.
“She’s not a Phoenix or a bird. She looks like a rabbit spirit. What is she, Ruilin?” They ask in unison, a chorus of mischief and song. Their voices rise and fall, each echoing the other, and tiny hands continue their work. Giggling, they splash me again, covering me in a glittering, shimmering coat of water.
“Stop splashing this instant! Yi Nuo is a mortal.” Suddenly, the serene garden bursts into life. A kaleidoscope of butterflies, dragonflies, and birds in every conceivable color surrounds us, filling the space with fluttering wings, some transforming into human shapes right before my eyes. They flutter around me, chirping voices, a chorus of giggles, whispers, with mischievous curiosity.
On the lush green grass, a rotund man sprawls comfortably, garbed head to toe in a vibrant shade of Caterpillar green. His plump body is adorned with rolls that seem to ripple as he shifts, and he props his head on one short, chubby arm.
“So this is the mortal who fed you worms and grubs?” he asks, his face contorting into a distrustful and disgusted grimace. “I always knew one day Ruilin would eat one of us. Birds can’t be trusted. With their beady eyes, consuming insects is ingrained in their very nature. It was bound to happen.”
“A Caterpillar too,” I mumble, my voice barely audible. “I bit a fat Caterpillar in half and fed it to Ruilin.”
“WHAT!?” The man clad in vibrant green exclaims, his eyes widening in fright and horror, as if they’ve been forced open by an unseen hand. His mouth forms a perfect, astonished ‘O’ before, without warning, he vanishes into thin air, leaving only the faintest shimmer behind where he had been.
I don’t quite understand what comes over me, but a soft giggle escapes my lips, partly in awe of this surreal realm of fantasy and dreams. Strangely, with its myriad wonders and peculiarities, this immortal world doesn’t seem as shocking as it should be.
“Yi Nuo, now have a seat,” Ruilin calls out.” I didn’t know what you wanted to eat, so I had them prepare a little of everything.”
He leads me to a table laden with exquisite and colorful delicacies more plentiful than I had ever imagined possible. The sight is breathtaking and almost too much to take in at once.
I have never seen most of it: A platter of candied plums that glisten, each gleaming as if polished, joins a basket of steaming buns that change color as I watch. A dish of red and green beans glistens with a tempting, fragrant glaze, while vibrant vegetables are sliced so precisely they resemble tiny, intricate sculptures. Even the tea is a light shade of lavender. He respects my life in the convent, where meat was not consumed. All the dishes are vegetarian.
With deliberate care, Ruilin places what resembles a fiddlestick fern into my rice bowl, fills my teacup to the brim, and declares, “After you eat, if you’re ready, I’ll introduce you to my family. But only if you’re ready. If not, that’s okay, too.”
“I can take you to Eagle’s Peak; the entire palace will stretch below us, and everyone will look tiny, like ants. Sometimes I pretend to crush them, especially Consort Lie Xi. She’s my father’s second wife.” His thumb and forefinger pinched together, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “But first, I’ve saved Princess Changying’s message for us to read together while we eat.”
As before, he meticulously unfolds the swan, pulling each corner until it transforms into a perfect square. A broad smile carves across his face as he flips the paper over, and I read aloud, “Rainy, but the clouds aren’t grey. It will be a brief storm.”
It seems nothing more than a simple weather update, but Ruilin exclaims sincerely, “So profound. Do you see this? Princess Changying is saying even when it rains, the storm will pass quickly.”
“My future wife is so deep. I miss her fiercely and can’t wait for you two to meet. I feel you two will get along splendidly, and I want my future wife to know you because I know we will be best friends by the time this is over.”
Ruilin’s innocence and optimism are more captivating than the cleft in his chin, the brightness of his eyes, or the shape of his lips, which are always curved into a smile. His bright outlook on life takes some of my pain away.
Princess Changying is a lucky girl.