*FEATURED* Ao is a wrathful, ravenous former god trapped in a human body and sentenced to roam the Inner Empire for all eternity.
Eternity is rather dull, until she meets a green-eyed prince and his friends.
The prince offers her a deal; help him a...
推心置腹 tuīxīnzhìfù Give one's bare heart into somebody else's keeping. Trust completely, to confide in somebody with entire sincerity.
I dimly remembered someone lifting me and carrying me for a time. They held me carefully, so my broken rib didn't shift.
I was undressed and redressed in dry linen pajamas, then placed on a bed. Someone attempted to inspect my wounds, but I swatted them away. They persisted, fingers prodding at the long cuts on my arms.
"Leave it!" I snarled, lashing out.
They went away, and I lay back, left with my pain.
My rib hurt worse than ever, as it started to heal. The feeling of the bone fusing together was horrible. I wondered if Yan had intentionally made it this painful, or had simply been so absent minded that he forgot to write in a zih or two to mitigate the pain.
I drifted between waking and sleep, my exhaustion dragging me down, only to have the pain bring me back to consciousness.
"Let me help you," said Sanli's voice in my ear.
I opened my eyes. It was early evening. Sanli stood beside my bed. I could see dim shapes behind him.
Grimly, I nodded.
Instead of Tenzetsuto, Sanli took out a scroll of paper and brought his seal to it. The spell burned green, and the zih leapt off the paper and surrounded Sanli's hand.
Sanli brought his glowing hand to my side, and immediately the pain in my ribs faded, replaced by a cool buzz, like soft electricity.
I sighed, and at last fell into a deep sleep.
*~*~*~*~*~*
My dreams were filled with Lu, as always, as well as the times before I had met him, when I had been Dalong, a monster in an ocean of monsters. Those early memories were full of brutal scenes, of pain and struggle and blood tinted sea.
There were a few more recent memories. Sanli, showing me how to use the hand held fireworks. Ermi in her yukata. Except in my dreams her yukata was the wrong color, a mismatch of rainbows, and the little princess's hair held too many pins to count.
When I woke, I at first thought I was still dreaming, because the room around me was far grander than the snug den I had created for myself at Chuanfang. Tall arches leading to a balcony filled with potted ferns lined one wall, letting in bright sunlight. The remaining walls were hung with tapestries, green backgrounds on which bright white kirin frolicked and played and slept beneath trees.
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The furniture was sparse but ornate, dark wood finished with green silk and gold. A similar color carpet was spread across the flagstones.
Beside my bed was a chair, in the same dark wood and green silk, no doubt placed there for visitors. It was occupied, to my surprise, by Prince Zhangyu. He sat by my bedside, hands clasped in front of him, staring pensively at the ornate carpet.
