Xiao Yao didn’t put it together immediately, but she should have. She was a doctor, and Xiang Liu wasn’t the type to fling flower petals across a bed when he skulked away in the night. Hua tu bing wasn’t even the strangest sickness she had come across in her travels and studies, but it was rare, not something she had ever treated. At most, it was a curiosity she half remembered from an irrelevant esoteric text from who knew where in Dahuang.
If nothing else, she ought to have questioned it sooner, particularly when she saw neither hide nor hair of him for longer than she cared to admit. She had thought it a relief at first, or Xiang Liu licking his wounds. It was only when Cangxuan mentioned how antsy Xiang Liu’s soldiers were getting that she did the arithmetic.
So she did what anyone would do in her situation.
She stood on the shore and shouted at the wind-whipped sea Xiang Liu claimed as his.
“Xiang Liu!” When there was no response, she cursed him. Bastard. Stubborn son of a donkey. Anything she could think of, she said, inventing fresh insults when the ones she knew didn’t suffice. “Xiang Liu!”
As she paced and yelled, she grew hoarse and tired and disgusted, but she didn’t stop, not until she sighted a large white bird gliding toward her, majestic against the clear, blue sky.
Delighted, she waved her arms. “Maoqiu!” When he was close enough, Xiao Yao laughed and threw her arms around his neck. “Where’s your master, huh?”
He lowered his neck, tacitly accepting her presence as she clamored onto his back.
The salt air chapped her skin, but she could hardly mind it as they finally approached the clamshell.
Maoqiu dived toward it, flapping his wings only at the last possible moment. Before she could wonder how she would open it, he tapped his beak against it.
She steeled herself for what was to follow, but even preparing herself for what she thought would be the worst couldn’t stop her from gasping at the smears of red decorating every surface of the clamshell’s interior, the pink, fallen petals, the still, painfully pale body lying on the hard surface of his bed.
She knew suddenly that she would do whatever it took to save him, that she wouldn’t have taken things as far as she did if she hadn’t felt something for him. She had asked him once if he could leave everything behind, run away with her; he had said no, but she had meant it in all its deeper implications.
For a life like that, she could have loved him.
Maybe she loved him anyway.
Rushing forward, she crashed to her knees next to him, already scrambling for the jars of medicine tied to her belt. “Xiang Liu!”
She opened his mouth, vibrant red, and pulled a whole peony from within, tossing it aside with disgust and displeasure, then the petals caught in the back of his throat, slimy with blood and saliva. Who had ever liked peonies anyway? Monstrous flowers, all things told.
When his airway was clear, she pulled him upright and slid in behind him, pouring the liquid in the first jar down his throat, a decoction to treat blood loss. She wished she had brought more. The second was a tea she had brewed according to instructions provided in the text. Meant to numb one’s emotions, it was said to slow the progression of the disease. The third promised to replenish his energy.
Though he remained unconscious, color returned to his skin. Relief flooded her. It wasn’t too late.
Maoqiu transformed into the small, chubby creature she had known, weaving toward Xiang Liu on cute, fluttering little wings.
“Don’t worry,” she said, speaking to herself as much as she spoke to Maoqiu. “He’ll be alright.”
He couldn’t die like this. She wouldn’t let him.
As though determined to play nice for once, his eyelashes fluttered as though to confirm her words. When he realized what was happening, he twisted in her hold, struggled within the circle of her arms. Though his gaze was hazy, it sharpened as soon as he realized who embraced him.
When he coughed, only blood coated his lips.
She dared lean in, kissing the stain from his mouth before encouraging him to rest against her with a placating pat on the top of his head.
“Run away with me,” she whispered into his hairline. “Forget about everything else.”
He coughed again. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
“My men—”
“I’ll convince Cangxuan to leave them be.” She didn’t know if this was possible, but she was willing to try. If it bought her time to cure Xiang Liu, she would do whatever it took. “The world is big enough to give them this much, don’t you think?”
Xiang Liu laughed bitterly. “Why would you want to help me like that? Why would Xiyan Cangxuan agree?”
There were a lot of ways she could answer, but only a few were correct. Xiang Liu had been loyal to a man who remained loyal to her father who had done little worse than others in similar positions. She didn’t think it was too much to ask for peace to be pursued. But more importantly to her…
“I don’t want you to die like this,” she said. “I don’t want you to die at all.”
“Really?”
It wasn’t as hard to say this now as it used to be. That had to count as progress. “Yes.”
“I can’t run.”
Xiao Yao swallowed back a cry of frustration. Could he ever relent in anything? Then again, until now, when had she? “Then I won’t run either. We’ll do what we can.” The tiles would fall where they would. “Then… we’ll see.”
This time, his laugh was more amused. She liked the sound of it, and she was only a little afraid to admit as much to herself. There was so much she had to untangle.
Running away sounded so much better than the alternative.
“Alright,” he said, far too gentle for what she knew of him, making her want to run even more.
But she chose not to, not when running—both of them running, running away from one another—had led them here.
She didn’t what the future would hold for them, but for once, she felt an endurable sort of hope. From the look of unvarnished wonder on his face as he looked up at her, she thought maybe it was the same for him.
Where before, she had only harbored doubts about the love others held for her, here, she had the tangible proof of it. She had no need of the fears that had rooted themselves in her heart so long ago.
As she held Xiang Liu, she weeded them from the garden of her heart one by one.
Additional credit: Title font: Marvin Visions, Body font: Goudy Bookletter 1911
The title of this project is inspired by “Selling Wilted Peonies” by Yu Xuanji, a Tang Dynasty poet. Shanglin Garden is an imperial garden dating to the Han Dynasty that is mentioned in the poem. You can read it in translation here and we consulted this site for the original text of the poem as well, which can be found here.