Dusk had not yet fallen; the streets were still lively.
Leaving the eatery, Bihua and Layne walked back at an unhurried pace, minds still snagged on the day's events.
That woman who called herself Qingshui—light tongue, plain looks—yet she knew a great deal and had real skill. It was that very opacity that pricked one's wariness.
They crossed a stone bridge when someone called, "Miss Bihua?"
It was Teacher Shen: gray robe as ever, old book satchel on his back, mild-eyed.
"What brings you to Muyun?" Bihua bowed, surprised.
"Visiting an old friend. I'm heading back to Youzhen," he smiled. "And you two—are you settled?"
"A room at an inn for now. We move tomorrow," Bihua said, then drew out the slip bearing Qingshui's sample. "Master, I met someone who offered to teach Layne. She left me this hand."
Teacher Shen took it, studied a while, and his expression shifted.
"This hand…"
"How is it?" Bihua's heart tightened.
"Forceful bone, open breath; free in layout but never sloppy." His tone held a touch of admiration. "Not quite the 'famous hand' of our age, but full of personal understanding—very like the old school from the royal academies."
"Is it good?" Layne piped up.
"Not merely good—rarely achieved," Shen said, nodding. "And this person says she teaches?"
"A woman," Bihua answered evenly. "She volunteered to teach Layne."
Teacher Shen pondered, then smiled. "The hand has no villainy; the heart you must still guard. Teaching is more than penwork; a person must be read."
Bihua thanked him. They walked a little farther before he took his leave for Youzhen. Layne glanced back several times. "Ma, do you trust her?"
"Trust or not—we'll know tomorrow."
Night settled. A wind skimmed the lane mouth, rustling the paper like the flippant lilt of that woman saying, "I'll teach you to make porridge—then I'll drink it."
At first light the next day, Bihua and Layne were already up.
While the inn was still being swept, they headed for the southwest ward to receive the furniture, fuel, and cookware slated for the new house. Thinking of Qingshui's "room and board included," Bihua even added a coarse cotton bedding set and wash kit.
"Ma, what if she's no good at teaching?" Layne asked, hugging the bedding.
"Then we find another," Bihua said calmly. "But the bedding stays."
"So she profits?" Layne blinked.
Bihua gave him a look. "Afraid she'll take advantage—or afraid she can't teach?"
"I'm afraid she'll eat us poor," he said, picturing yesterday's whirlwind appetite.
Bihua laughed. "Your abacus clacks louder than mine."
By the time they reached Willow Lane, the sun had just climbed the roofline, slanting warm over the little bluestone courtyard. Three or four porters stood outside with table, chairs, bedframe, and sacks of rice—and were marveling at the sight on the threshold.
"Hey—is she one of yours?" a burly man asked.
Bihua and Layne drew near and saw:
Someone was sprawled across the sill—one hand on the door, the other clutching her belly, sprawled like a rag bundle. There was mud—maybe—at the corner of her mouth.
"Don't touch me. I can't… move an inch," she groaned. "Ate too well yesterday… then couldn't scrounge dinner. Got the craving bug riled up."
"Qingshui," Bihua warned.
"Mm." Qingshui lifted heavy eyes. "You're here… save me. Got food?" She reached out with a comic tremor.
"If you don't move, the wardrobe's coming down on you," a porter barked.
"Go on—don't mind me," Qingshui quavered. "I'm a corpse. Treat me like a corpse."
"This corpse talks!" another man laughed.
Bihua sighed, stepped forward, caught Qingshui under the arm, and "half-lift, half-dragged" her inside. She oofed and ow-ow-owed the whole way. Layne, hugging the bedding, snorted with barely-contained laughter.
Inside, the place was still bare. The porters set the tables and bedframe; two youths rigged a small stove in the yard and strung a lamp line—decently efficient.
Slumped by the side-room door, Qingshui watched the bustle and breathed, "So… this room's mine?"
"If you don't teach well, it won't be tomorrow," Bihua replied without looking up, counting coins for the porters.
"Then I'd better be serious today," Qingshui said, leaning back. "It'd be a shame to waste that new quilt."
Layne, already hooked by her ridiculous "faint yet mouthy" act, squatted beside her after lugging a stool, pelting her with questions:
"Did you really train?"
"Can you make someone go limp in one pinch?"
"What's the most bowls you've ever eaten?"
"How many places have you been?"
Qingshui kept her eyes closed in fake swoon. After his third poke to the ribs, she shot upright with a yelp. "You little imp! I'm starving and you're poking holes in me."
"You look fine to me."
"If you stabbed an elephant like that, it'd twitch twice after it died," she squinted.
Under the eaves, Bihua watched their back-and-forth, shook her head, unable to hide a faint smile.
"If you don't start lunch, you two will be eating dust tonight," she called.
Qingshui suddenly "ah!"-ed and sprang up. "I'll inspect the stove and bowls! I suddenly feel a little strength again." She trotted toward the main room. "At least until after I eat, I definitely won't faint!"
Layne laughed so hard he rolled off the stool.
They ate in the courtyard at a round table pieced together for the day.
Bihua cooked a pot of clay-pot rice, set out some soy-braised beef, stir-fried greens, an egg-and-pickled-gourd dish, and a few small items brought from the inn. Simple, but at first sight Qingshui's eyes gleamed.
"This is no worse than yesterday's wontons," she said, rubbing chopsticks.
"So are you team Wonton or team Veg-and-Rice?" Layne asked, lifting a cube of tofu.
"I'm team Edible," Qingshui declared. "When you're starving, factions are worthless."
Appetite needs little poetry.
Three bowls later, she tipped her head to the sky, glanced at Bihua. "Full! Class time!"
"What's on the syllabus?" Bihua asked as she gathered bowls.
"Mmm…" Qingshui smacked her lips. "Freshly fed and past noon—not ideal to drill forms. This afternoon we'll do letters." She rolled up her sleeves, produced a stump of a brush, a smoothed bamboo board, dipped the brush in cold tea, and beckoned Layne. "Sit opposite me."
Layne scooted over, bright-eyed.
"Today we skip classics and quotations," Qingshui said, voice dropping into a storyteller's cadence. "Let's talk about how wide this world is. Do you know the proper name of the land under your feet?"
"The Aegis Crown Kingdom!" Layne shot back.
"Good!" Smack went the bamboo. "Aegis Crown—north to the Mist Range, south to the Qiong River and Great Sea; west the Gloomwood, east the Cloud-Cliff Plains. Three Circuits, nine provinces, twenty-seven counties; hundreds of towns and villages. If you truly rode the lot, you wouldn't be back in three years."
"It's that big?"
"Bigger than you think."
She drew a thick line across the board. "We're in the Haihan Circuit, the kingdom's southeast. Not as cold as the northeast Tonglin, nor as barren and stony as the northwest Mirrorstone. Warm and wet, fish and grain abound, trades flourish."
"So we're the richest? What about the southwest?"
"Rich—yes," she smiled. "But restless, too." She paused. "As for the southwest—one day, go and see. It's a world apart from the kingdom's three great circuits."
She split the board into three with her finger and tapped:
"Under Haihan are three provinces—Xixia, Jiuxiao, and Suzé."
"Here we belong to Xixia Prefecture," she continued, "with three county seats: Lìzhou, Qīngzhou, Yútái. Muyun Town is under Lìzhou."
"What about Jiuxiao and Suzé?" Layne asked.
"Suzé—thin soil, handsome folk; scholars and opera thrive. Jiuxiao—deep mountains and waters; sword-arts and river trade flourish. Xixia bridges both—'keystone of the southern circuit.'"
She spoke smoother and smoother, sketching rough maps and marks as she went.
Bihua, who had been tidying indoors, drifted out and leaned in the doorway, watching the odd pair—one bamboo board, one tea cup—hit their stride.
"How do you know so much?" Layne asked, awed.
"I walked it," Qingshui winked. "Xixia thrice over, Jiuxiao twice; six villages in Suzé in a single year. Shame I'm always broke—could've enjoyed it more."
"You remember all that?"
"Of course. Maybe hunger keeps the mind sharp…" Her gaze went far for a breath, then she rapped the board. "All right, quiz time. How many provinces did we say?"
Layne counted on his fingers. "Xixia, Suzé, Jiuxiao!"
"Good. And Xixia's three counties?"
"Qingzhou, Lizhou, Yutai!"
"Correct." She smiled. "Tomorrow I'll outline the other two provinces of Haihan—then we start training."
Layne nodded fiercely, eyes shining.
He'd never felt this before—that the world wasn't only "big beyond the ridge," but had names, traits, stories.
Qingshui packed away the board and stood—only for her stomach to rumble. She blinked and looked at Bihua. "Am I… hungry again?"
"You just ate three bowls."
"That was an appetizer," she said solemnly. "Now my real appetite's here."
Bihua pinched the bridge of her nose and went inside.
Evening leaned in; wind teased the bamboo; sunlight dappled gold across the yard.
At Qingshui's door, Layne asked softly, "Will you tell me things like this every day?"
"If you want to hear, I'll talk," she said—already toothpicking and stroking the quilt that was "temporarily" hers.
"Can Ma listen too?"
Qingshui paused, looked toward the doorway silhouette, and smiled.
"If she wants to, she can sit closer. If she doesn't, I'll talk louder."
Deep night. Lamps died down. Mother and son slept.
Qingshui listened a while to be sure, then slipped into the yard. From her robe she took a piece of ink-dark jade and closed her fist around it, lips moving in a soundless chant. Under the moon the jade bled black light that wrapped her hand.
She raised it and gave a small shake above her head.
Presently a pigeon ghosted through the moonlight, wings beating without a sound, and settled on her shoulder. She drew a note from its leg tube and unfolded it to the moon:
"Understood. Continue proximity. Accounting above is ongoing. Don't neglect your brief—inspect the tri-village stations."
When she finished, she rubbed the paper between her fingers; it sifted to ash.
She patted the bird and it slid soundless into the dark.
Pocketing the jade, she whispered, "Who are you two? Why am I sent to touch you?"
She glanced toward the main room where the pair slept, then sprang to the courtyard wall. Her outline thinned; a light toe-tip—and she slipped over the tiles like mist, like night, like wind, skimming fast toward the town's edge.