The tip of her brush paused inches from the parchment. The ink it's been dipped into dripped in quick succession, dotting the surface with ugly and out of place blotches. She frowned at the sheet laid out in front of her, unable to erase something threatening to crawl out of the back of her mind. Those splotches began to look like something other than ink. Maybe if it had been a different color, it'd be something else.

She glanced at the world outside her window. Past the empty garden separating the house and the main street, the town bustled with activity. Each person was lost in their own fleeting existence, their eyes forever wandering through the expanse of familiar sights and unchanging landscape of their lives. Perhaps that's what she should write about this afternoon. This poem about affection was lost on her.

The brush made a distinct clink against its porcelain holder when she set it down. Her fingers reached for the parchment and crumpled it without mercy. She chucked it into the growing pile of discarded words at the foot of her low table. As much as she didn't want to admit it, words have been failing her recently for reasons unknown.

She needed to come up with a new poem—or anything—soon. Her most recent anthology had already flown past the minds of the people. If she was a poetess to rival the scholars studying inside the Imperial Palace, if she was someone worthy enough to impress the Emperor of Chuzhai, she needed more than the inane poems she had in circulation. She wouldn't want to be remembered as an artist who's never worth her soksen.

But as soon as the new season rolled by, she grew less and less interested in putting her words on paper. She hated seeing ink printed into parchment, especially if it took the form of her handwriting.

In short, something was wrong. Not just with her but with the world around her in general. She couldn't tell anyone about it, but she noticed how the stars never changed in the sky and how each sunset was the same shades as it was the day before. Everyday was a repeat of the one that finished before. Maybe it's a representation of her own helpless situation or something just as poetic, but some things were beyond her perception, especially when they touch the nature around her.

She blew a breath and pushed the low table away. The ink quivered in faint ripples with the legs grating against the polished floorboards. She ran a hand down the braids tucking her hair in strict plaits around her head, checking if the golden hairpin stuck across them stayed put. Han-Xi didn't like it when her hair was fluttering out and about. Maybe it reminded him of a previous lover or something. She didn't really care.

So long as their deal stood, she convinced herself to not care.

That didn't just about his previous lovers. It extended to this twisted arrangement she had with Han-Xi, one that she wanted to get out of for the longest time but couldn't. It was because of him that her anthologies ever made it out beyond her small town. If she didn't agree to his proposal the day he found her by the Daryang River, she wouldn't have the largest boost she had since she started writing her thoughts on paper.

If it wasn't for Han-Xi, she'd still be a clueless maid in the outskirts of the province with nowhere to turn to. But he had given her a voice, a chance to prove and distinguish herself in the forest of educated scholars taught by the Generational Principles on a daily basis. Now, she stood among the hailed wise individuals in the Empire despite being separate from Cheomwassa—the gathering of prominent scholars in all of Shinjien—and despite being a woman.

She smoothed her hand down her scarlet skirts, fixing the edges of her fenhai. Everything had to be pristine when presenting herself to her benefactor. She stalked out of her room, her socks shuffling across the wooden floorboards void of a single speck of dust. The corridors leading to Han-Xi's office whizzed by her, conforming according to the map she had in her head.

Her steps ceased when she reached Han-Xi's room. Her knuckles were millimeters from rapping against the thin lattices making up the door when the sound of shutters opening and closing rang from the inside. A shadow of a beast with horns, fangs, and claws flashed against the afternoon sun. Her throat hitched as her hand slapped against her lips to muffle any sound that could aleart the creature. She stepped back until her back hit the opposite wall.

The beast's head shifted, its snout disappearing into a dark blob. It has turned to her. It sensed her. She forced her legs to work, to start running, but she couldn't move. Her limbs stayed rigid, her eyes uselessly scanning the huge shadow. What had the beast done to Han-Xi? Should she call the Imperial djang-dis?

A hiss resounded inside the whole house. From the shadow, a forked tongue flicked out of the beast's mouth. It sniffed the air once. Then, it lunged.

She fell against the wall, her arms wrapped around her head. A scream ripped out of her throat before she could swallow it.

Instead of claws shredding her body to shreds, gentle hands ran down her back in soothing movements. What...

Slowly, her eyes opened. They landed on the familiar man with long, yellow-hair tied in a high tail on his head. Instead of the topknots most men in the Empire wore, his strands were left to dangle past his back in a whip-like thickness. Soft green eyes met her dark ones. She had always thought them to be inhuman.

"Han-Xi," she breathed, pushing herself off his grip and rising to her feet. The image of the beast's shadow lunging for her still burned at the back of her mind. Another image followed it, one of a set of claws stained with blood after having ripped a man's throat out. She still couldn't decide if that was her fear manifesting or something worse—a memory.

She ducked her head at the man. His fenhai was as loose as ever, the folds not tucked into each other and left to cleave over his chest. "I'm sorry for coming here," she said. "I just have something to tell you."

A hand reached out. Han-Xi's fingers brushed the stray strands of hair that escaped their strict place and were left to stream down the side of her face. She cursed inwardly, wincing when his hand stayed close to her face. Then, to her surprise, he simply tucked those strands behind her ear.

"What is it?" Han-Xi asked, his tone as silky as ever. "What can I help you with?"

She gritted her teeth. Her fists clenched at her sides. "I want to access the library," she said. "My ideas have gone dry and I am in need of inspiration. Perhaps, if your collection is as grand as you boast it to be, I will find some wisdom left by my elders and will help in crafting my next anthology."

Han-Xi had never denied any of her request. She'd get that access despite what he told her on her first day in this house. "The library is forbidden," he answered. "No amount of pleading will make me bend. We will not speak of this matter any more than what already has been said."

"But—"

"I said no more!" he yelled. A deep growl accompanied his words, amplifying the drop of fear in her gut. Somehow, it scared her more than the shadow of the beast in Han-Xi's room.

He sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. Then, in a lighter tone, he said, "If you're in need of ideas, you can embroider, paint, something," he opened his eyes and gave her a small smile as if he hadn't just screamed at her. "You liked doing those too, right?"

She bobbed her head. "If I am going to start painting," she said. "Then allow me to go to the market. I need to make sure I have the right shades."

Hesitance crept at the corners of Han-Xi's eyes. For what reason, she wouldn't ever know. Why was he so cautious about her stepping past the garden? She was from a ruddy town before. She knew how to keep herself safe, so that reasoning wouldn't fly by her.

Han-Xi shrugged. "Be back by sundown," he said. "No later."

Before she could say anything more, Han-Xi pushed past her and disappeared back into his office. The door shutting in her face after a forceful yank told her it was time to go.

The market was busy with tons of people fluttering around like butterflies. And like the famed insects, they touched one shop before jumping to the next. She tucked her hands deep into her wide sleeves, feeling out of place and vulnerable in the sea of somber gray and beige shades with her bright red skirt. Her boots thumped in the same rhythm as most of the crowd, but that's about it. She should finish this as possible.

She ducked into countless shops but none of them contained the shade she had been looking for. She had an image of a huge pink tree in her head and none of the hues the merchants came up with matched it remotely. By the last shop, she was huffing and a painful knot sat on her shoulders. How long had she been wandering around the market? One glance at the afternoon sun told her nothing of significance. Maybe an hour? Two?

Her throat felt like the cracked soil underneath her soles. When she swallowed what meager saliva her mouth produced, pain stabbed in her neck. A drink. That's what she needed now. Forget about the paint. Maybe she'd have luck tomorrow.

With a new goal in mind, she found the nearest teahouse she could, following the sweet-smelling aroma wafting in the street. It was busy inside, with servers and patrons alike crowding the square tables. She used two fingers to push back the short curtains shielding the shop's foyer from the sun shining behind her. The lanterns hanging from the hooks nailed into the wall and the carved arch by the entrance stayed lifeless. It must have been a beautiful sight at night time.

The moment she entered, she expected there to be heads turning. Her skirt was hard to miss, after all. She reached her seat and all and not a single head or gaze whipped towards her. All of them were absorbed in their drink, with faint plumes of smoke rising past the cups' rims. Huh. Should she expect excellent service in this shop?

"What can I get you today?" a whimsical voice distracted her from her thoughts. Her gaze landed on a woman dressed in a fenhai with tight sleeves. The woman beamed at her, waiting for her to speak. A tray sat tucked underneath the woman's armpit. "Should I get the most soothing blend for the pretty lady?"

Heat rushed into her cheeks at the compliment. The woman chuckled. "I'm joking," she said. "Go on, name a blend. We have it."

She cleared her throat and tried to regain the composure she so boasted about to Han-Xi. She's a lady. There's no way she's going to let a common maid wind her up. "Winkle rose, please," she said.

The woman bobbed her head and disappeared into another arch no doubt leading to the brewing area. Within a few minutes, she emerged from it bearing a steaming cup placed on the tray tucked underneath her arm earlier. The woman approached her and was about to place the tray on the table when a patron whizzed out of nowhere and bumped into her at full force. The cup wobbled before tipping out of the tray, and straight into her lap.

Her breath hitched as the heat settled in her legs. Thanks to the thick fabric her skirts were made of, the water didn't scald her skin. A terrified look passed across the server's face. She fell into her knees and started groveling.

"Please spare my family. They've done nothing wrong!" the server exclaimed. Her words drew more attention to them than her now-drenched scarlet skirt did.

Sighing, she reached out and forced the server to stand up. "It's fine," she said. "Just lend me a spare to step into while we clean this up."

That's how they ended up sitting at the side porch of the shop's interior. It didn't even occur to her that there was a residence behind the teashop. She watched her legs swing from the edge of the porch. It sat too high for an ordinary person to jump from without shattering their ankles or knees. That's why the stairs were deemed the only safe way to reach the back garden.

Sitting on a thin wire slotted between two poles stuck to the soil were the rest of her fenhai, dripping wet from the rushed washing they did. They just needed to get the smell and stain out. A tray edged in her periphery and she turned to find the woman offering a cup to her. "This one's on the house," she said with an apologetic smile. "And I promise to not drop it on you."

She returned the woman's gesture and gripped the cup. "Been working in this shop long?" she asked. "What's your name?"

"Qin-Lei," the woman answered, dropping next to her and letting her dangle past the porch's rim too. "You?"

"I asked how long you've been working in this shop," she reminded.

Qin-Lei blinked. "Oh," she said. "My family owns this shop since our great-great-great-great-great—"

"Okay, stop," she chuckled and laid a hand in the air. "I get the idea."

"Great-great grandmother," Qin-Lei quipped.

She shook her head at the charming wit Qin-Lei seemed to have. It's far better than sitting at home alone with Han-Xi who didn't seem to care about what she's talking about most of the time. "Llong enough, then," she said. "You must have seen a lot in your time here."

Qin-Lei snorted. "But I've never dropped newly-stewed tea on a lady in a red fenhai before," she said. "We all have our firsts."

She hummed. "I noticed how the shop's owner—who I'm going to assume is your father—never reprimanded you," she said. "Is there a reason for that?"

"What, digging into my life now?" Qin-Lei tilted her head to the side, letting her simple braid go with the motion. She didn't even have a hairpin to hold the pleat above her head. Perhaps she could get Qin-Lei one? The server had been nothing but delightful in this otherwise disappointing afternoon.

A small tap flared in her arm. She looked down to find Qin-Lei retracting her still-closed fist. Did the woman just...punch her? "Ah, I'm kidding," Qin-Lei was saying as her actions and words registered with a lag in her brain. "That's my uncle. Dad's dead."

She blinked. "Oh, I'm sorry."

Qin-Lei waved her hand in the air. "Not your fault. No way it was," she said. "But yeah. I guess Uncle loves me too much. What can I say? I'm that pretty."

At that, a laugh fled out of her lips. Qin-Lei matched it with an amused chuckle. "And here I thought you're not capable of smiling, much less laughing."

She raised an eyebrow at Qin-Lei. "Am I that serious?"

The server rolled her shoulders. "You look the part."

A beat passed. Two. She took a sip of the tea, letting the winkle rose's sweet flavor coat her tongue.

"What do you think about it?" she asked.

Qin-Lei glanced at her. "About what?"

"Love."

The word hung between them and stayed in the air. Qin-Lei was quiet for a bit. She was about to say to not mind it and move on to another topic when the server sighed and leaned back, putting her weight on her wrists against the porch's floor.

"Love is a sacred thing," Qin-Lei said. "It can be found everywhere but not everyone finds it. I also think it can be expressed in a vast number of ways. That's what makes it hard to spot and hard to realize."

She pursed her lips. That's a unique look into it. Not that she had heard of another perspective into it. Ever since she got into poetry, she had never really wrote about it so she didn't feel the need to understand it. But now...

"Let me add to that," Qin-Lei cleared her throat. "Since love is expressed in a lot of different ways, the one receiving that can also take it in the same number of ways. And sometimes, that's where the disjoint happens. Love being given and love being received—there are times they're not the same."

A distant memory flashed at the back of her head. The details flitted off her mind when she failed to understand Qin-Lei's latest point. "Love not being the same?" she mulled. "Can you give an example?"

Qin-Lei tapped her chin. "Let's take my father. I'm sure the reason he signed himself up in the Dynasty War was because he wanted to protect me and his sister," she said. "Of course, when he got killed in it, along with the grief I felt, there was my anger. It's a real mess, but basically, I cursed him for not being with us now because of his big head thinking he could protect us better if he's out there, swinging a sword at people he shouldn't be concerned with."

Love being given and loved being received. They weren't the same.

"Why are we being philosophical all of a sudden?" Qin-Lei's smile turned conspiratorial. "Is it because of a man? Are you about to get married? Huh?"

The server's elbow jabbed at her ribs but not enough to hurt. It's just annoying. She dodged the next jab and rubbed her arm. "No. It was...something else," she said. "Like a memory. Of the past? I don't know. It's all fuzzy up here."

She tapped a hand on her temple, giving Qin-Lei an apologetic shrug. "I'm sorry for the philosophical talk," she said. "But I appreciate your answer. I might just write a poem based on it."

Qin-Lei snorted. "Yeah, do that," she said. Then, the server sighed, leaned forward, and turned to her. "Look, whoever it was, I'm sure that if you stay true to each other and become true to your feelings, then your love will last," her smile softened and her tone turned dreamy. "It may even transcend this lifetime."

The word intrigued her, causing her to perk up. Lifetimes. Not a lot of scholars wrote about it, but those who did were considered heretics and Cheomwassa revoked their rights to spread such teachings. It's interesting how a server from a teashop tucked in the heart of the market had the same conclusions about the world and its strange mechanisms.

Perhaps, she should tackle it, but do it in such a way that those scholars at Cheomwassa would never connect her words to the forbidden teaching. What's the best way to do that? Poetry, of course.

That's it. She found her new anthology.

And that meant she might have to go back to this teashop and continue to talk to Qin-Lei. As the source of information and perspective. Nothing else. Besides, the tea was satisfactory. She wouldn't mind trekking all the way here. All for the sake of her poetry.

Then, her eyes flicked to the sky. "Oh, no," she breathed at the darkening sky. "It's sundown."

Qin-Lei's eyebrows creased. "Yeah, what about it?"

She set the cup down and jumped off the porch. The thing she said about people breaking their legs upon touching the ground? That's horsecrap to a lady in a hurry. She grabbed her clothes from the rack and did her best to don them back on. She could just make up an excuse about getting drenched in the rain should Han-Xi ask.

Qin-Lei rushed from the stairs. "What's going on?" she demanded.

She shoved the clothes she borrowed from Qin-Lei back into the server's arms. "Thanks for the clothes," she said. "I must be off now. It's past sundown."

The server started sputtering as she dashed up the steps and made it back to the porch. Then, she paused,