Crimson Qi, Exiled Beautiful Lady Falls in Love with a Shy Demon

The Bitter Scent of Chrysanthemums

The Scholar Garden thrived anew in the embrace of the palace walls in Sutao. The ancient flower beds had been replenished with new color by the mute gardeners. The patterns had been re-inscribed on the sand of the rock beds by the scribes. In the same manner, the fields had been resown and the broken dams - rebuilt outside of the palace walls after the rages of war. In the Scholar Garden, one could be forgiven a delusion that all was well in the Evershining Empire and all of Tiandi.

Ten thousand learned footfalls had landed on these moss-tinged stone paths before Xi's bare soles made their first imprints in the dirt. The purple ribbon of a war mage he wore to gain admission to the hallowed grounds, felt woefully inadequate. His head swam, his torn flesh throbbed, and his thoughts ached just as dully as his body from the overexertion of passing his test.

He wished there would have been time to have the robes made before he went to see Zijun. Or for his hair to grow out enough to conceal the starkness of his shaven skull. So little in his appearance announced his new status, just one thin purple ribbon... He felt it though, both the burden and the delight, as he passed the Pavilion of Chronicles, and the scribes lifted their heads from the scrolls to give him wistful stares. Slowing down his steps, out of respect for their need to focus, he smiled. The focus was not existential for them, only for him. Without focus, the intellect and emotion of his hsin would unravel, his emotions so long repressed to shape logic would run wild and tear him apart.

Past the Pavillion of Chronicles, by the court historian's residence, the palace gardeners planted chrysanthemums. Such a waste of labor! Master Shan Jiang, the court historian, his tutor, preferred chrysanthemum wine to the flowers with their wintry scent.

His smile grew wider, despite his hurting cheek, as Xi stepped inside looking for Master Jiang's favorite pupil, Zijun. She also was his housekeeper, and if she had any other roles, Xi did not want to know. Zijun was his sister in every way that counted, the closest soul to him from birth, and he was afraid to mess with her happiness.

He found her by her favorite window, head bent over a scroll with more willingness than he'd observed in the scribes. Xi stood for a moment behind the beaded curtain, watching her send the brush fly, then frown, and, again, frown then send the brush fly.

"I can hear you breathe, brother."

Milk brother, actually, but brevity was important for poets. He parted the beads and came to wait for her to finish her work by her side.

The sun shone through the window panels. She saw egrets landing on the rapids, he saw the pricey many-veined paper imported from the kingdom of Taebong or somewhere else in the North. He peered over her gauze sleeve at the paper. "Can I see?"

She shielded the scroll with her hand. "It is not ready. Besides, what use do you have for women's poetry..." Zijun's eyes darted to his smarting scars, before she added, "...Xi."

Before his magic manifested, before his mother brought him to Rustam Bei, Zijun called him Xi. They both were four years old back then, and for a while, after Rustam took his name, she kept on calling him Xi, and cried when he would not reply. She did not understand how much of a change had it been for him to go from a boy to a mage apprentice, but she would understand now. She understood everything, she was a poet.

Xi's breath caught in his throat as he fingered his ribbon. He did not bother with restoring it before blurting out, "I did it, Zijun! I earned my birth-name back — I wanted so much to be the one to tell you... I came as fast as I could stand on my feet again."

She chewed the end of her brush. "A man who wishes to own secrets, should not live in a palace."

He understood what she said, every word. He focused on that despite the sharp teeth of disappoint tearing into his mind. "I... I see. If you are not happy to see me, I'll go."