***
Tulip crouched, staring at the rake handle as Mistress Wang came toward her. That rake looked a lot like the cane she’d used to beat Peony. The welts from the cane had been bad. A lot worse than anything from a switch or leather strap. Her mother hadn’t worked for two weeks after the cane beating. One of her welts had even gotten infected.
That had been the scariest time in Tulip’s life, even scarier than seeing the actual beating. Peony could have died. Mistress Wang could have killed her, but all she cared about was getting her back to work so she could make more tofu.
Mistress Wang swung, the rake handle whistling straight for Tulip’s head. She ducked, terrified. The handle stirred the hairs on her head as it passed over. Mistress Wang’s eyes bulged the way they did when she was mad, her dark blue eye paint making her look even meaner than usual.
Heart pounding, Tulip bolted. She always ran away from Mistress Wang, even though Peony said that made the beatings worse. Mistress Wang’s kicks, slaps, and leather strap always hurt. It didn’t make sense to just stand around and wait to be hurt. That was stupid. And she was not stupid.
She burst into the house common room, Mistress Wang behind her. Inside, the lounging women leaped to their feet in a rustling of silk. They screamed, knocking bright pillows to the floor.
Tulip darted around the tables as Mistress Wang came after her. The rake handle missed her, connecting with tabletops instead.
“Someone catch her or you’ll all pay!” the madam shrieked.
Cherry Blossom and Magnolia lunged for her. She twisted out of their reach and skidded into the kitchen. Maybe she could hide behind Master Su. He was fat. Surely Mistress Wang couldn’t reach her if she got behind him—
“Out of the way, pig face!” Mistress Wang shouted.
Master Su looked up from his chopping, eyes widening as he saw Tulip charging at him and Mistress Wang charging at Tulip—with a rake.
He dropped his knife and waddled faster than she had ever seen him move, rushing for the back door. Even though he was three times the size of Mistress Wang, he clearly had no intention of helping Tulip.
“Catch her, pig face!”
Master Su turned, his giant bulk blocking the door. Tulip tried to double back toward the common room at the last moment. She slipped, crashing into shelves lined with pots and pans. Several clanged to the floor. A large wok rang against her forehead. Pain burst across her face.
She sat up, dazed. Just as her vision cleared, the rake handle landed across her shoulders. She cried out, struggling to her feet.
“You little rat.” Mistress Wang hefted the rake handle into the air for another strike. “I should throw you into the street like the bastard child you are.”
Tulip jumped out of the way and ran back into the common room—straight into Cherry Blossom and Magnolia, who each caught an arm. They spun her around just as Mistress Wang exploded into the room.
“Let me go!” Tulip cried, jerking against the two women as tears ran down her face. “Let me—”
The rake handle hit her across her stomach. She screamed, going limp between the two women. It came down again on her right shoulder, and Tulip sobbed.
“I should sell you to the next man who walks through my doors,” Mistress Wang said. “I should have sold you the day you were born and saved myself eight years of expense!”
The rake handle whistled through the air. Tulip choked on a sob and cringed, waiting for it to land.
The blow never came.
There were loud intakes of breath from every woman in the room. She opened her eyes and looked up.
A man stood between her and Mistress Wang, his hand gripping the end of the rake. It was his hand that kept it from hitting her.
“How dare you?” Mistress Wang said to the man. “This girl is my property. You have no right to interfere. Step back at once!”
Tulip winced, seeing the fury in her eyes; her punishment was going to be very bad today.
“What offense has this child committed?” the man asked softly.
He was a trim man in his middle years with a clean-shaven face. He wore gray mourning clothes, a simple tunic and pants. A gray mourning cloak hung over his shoulders. His dark hair was twisted atop his head in a warrior knot.
“She is a bastard child,” Mistress Wang said. “I give her shelter and she disrespects me. She is an ungrateful whore-child who deserves to be tossed in the gutter.”
The man looked down at Tulip, black eyes studying her.
“I can see you are correct,” the stranger said after a long moment, his voice still soft. “You would do well to be rid of one like this.”
“Yes,” Mistress Wang said, lifting her chin in triumph. “You are a wise man. You may have any of my flowers for half price.”
“Mmm.” The man did not release his grip on the rake. He swept his gaze over the women, who had all fled to the edges of the room—except for Cherry Blossom and Magnolia, who held Tulip between them.
There was another intake of breath, this time from the stairway. “Tulip,” breathed a voice.
The man in gray jerked as though he’d been struck. He turned.
Peony stood frozen at the top of the stairs, lips parted and eyes wide. The man she’d made tofu for bustled past her, humming to himself. At the sight of the strange exchange taking place in the common room, he cleared his throat, fixed his attention on the door, and strode out without a backward glance.
The man in gray studied Peony. His eyes flicked from Tulip and back to Peony.
Mistress Wang saw the direction of his gaze. “That is Lady Peony,” she said. “Surely you have heard of her? Her beauty and talents are renowned. Normally I give no discounts for her time, but I will make a special exception for you. She is the prize of the House of Flowers.”
The man in gray lowered his gaze. Instead of addressing Mistress Wang, he looked down at Tulip again. She recalled Peony’s warning to avoid looking at men who came into the house, but she couldn’t help it. He looked so . . . sad.
“What is your name, child?” he asked.
“Tulip,” she squeaked.
The man’s breath became uneven, like he had run a long way. He fingered a lump in his cloak pocket that looked like a book. The sadness in his eyes grew, and Tulip didn’t think she’d ever seen someone who looked so sad. He looked like he had a whole mountain of sadness on top of him.
The moment passed. The man in gray breathed normally. His sad look disappeared.
“Have mercy on a foolish child, kind sir.” Peony glided down the stairs, her crystal beads clinking at her temples. She widened her eyes and delivered her lovely smile, the one that usually made men want her tofu.
Mistress Wang’s head swiveled toward Peony. Her mother would wear red welts for this, Tulip knew. If her mother saw the nastiness in the madam’s face, she gave no sign. She glided up to the man in gray, her face and movements graceful and delicate.
“Kind sir, would you like to walk in my garden?” She rested slender fingers on his arm.
The man in gray gently shook her off. “No, Lady Peony.” He shifted, putting his back to her and facing Mistress Wang.
“Name your price for the girl,” he said, “and I will take her off your hands.”
Peony’s step faltered. Her smile slipped but returned in an instant.
“The child?” A slow grin spread across Mistress Wang’s face. Her eyes glinted. “The girl is a nuisance, to be sure, but she is the daughter of Lady Peony. She will be a great beauty in a few years’ time. That is worth much.”
“She cannot be that valuable,” the man replied. “One would not beat something so valuable, I think.”
“I need to recover my investment. Surely you can understand my predicament.” Mistress Wang straightened, releasing her hold on the rake.
As she did, Cherry Blossom and Magnolia released Tulip. She collapsed to the floor, her body aching and hurting all over.
“
I have paid for her upbringing since birth. For eight years, I have spent good coin on her.”
“You were ready to throw this girl into the street,” said the man in gray. “She clearly is worth little to you. Ten gold dragons.”
More gasps from the women, Peony among them.
“Ten gold dragons?” Mistress Wang put her hands on her hips and threw her head back, chuckling. “When this girl turns into a flower, she will make that for me in a few years’ time.” Her eyes glittered like they always did when she was being greedy. “Twenty-five gold dragons.”
“Fifteen.”
“Twenty.”
“Sixteen.”
“Eighteen.”
“Done.”
The man in gray dropped the rake. It clattered to the floor. He pulled a pouch from his belt and tossed it at the feet of Mistress Wang.
“There are two extra gold dragons in there,” he said. “I give them to buy mercy for Lady Peony. You will not discipline her for what has transpired here.”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door. Tulip gaped after him.
She had just been sold.
iv
A Wilted Flower
What was he doing?
She wasn’t Jian.
Yi marched out of the House of Flowers, fists clenched.
She wasn’t Jian.
He should leave her—let the greedy madam keep the money and just leave her. He should ride away and never look back.
Her resemblance to Jian was striking, but it wasn’t her. He had buried his daughter six months ago.
Fire Foot stood at the mouth of the alleyway where Yi had left him. The kylin pricked his ears forward, eyes rolling as he sensed Yi’s turmoil.
He braced his arms against the beast’s side, hanging his head as he struggled to control his ragged breath. It took him several moments, but he at last wrestled his pulse back into a state of normalcy.
Movement in the corner of his eye made him straighten. He turned toward the House of Flowers, leaving one hand on his kylin for support.
The child came toward him with wide eyes. Her shoulders hunched from the pain of her beating. The entire contingent of the House of Flowers was on her heels: a bevy of ruined, beautiful women in silken dresses; a fat cook with crooked teeth; the shrewd madam; and the woman called Peony, far and above the most beautiful woman of the house.
The girl, in faded clothing and with an unadorned face, nearly disappeared in the sea of color and beauty that surrounded her.
Yi couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her contingent faded to a blurred, multicolored background.
The sight of her lit a spark within him.
He wanted . . . he wanted . . . curse the gods, he didn’t know what he wanted, but he remembered the way Jian used to pick wildflowers for him while he labored under the mansion. She tied ribbons around them and left them on his desk. They would be wilted by the time he found them after a long day spent casting liquid steel.
He always left the wilted flowers on his desk. They dried and turned brittle, but he didn’t mind. Eventually someone on his staff got rid of them, but he could never bring himself to throw them out.
It had been so long since he’d experienced anything beyond rage and bleak numbness. He’d long ago consigned himself to being unhappy, a man kept alive by duty.
The sight of this skinny, beaten child was like finding the wilted flowers on his desk.
He could not leave her behind. He could not. He would not.