Kapitel 31: Lotus

Sighing, Zhu Huangu brushed the loose strands of hair out of her face with the back of her hand. The golden hem of her knee-length, pale-green robe was damp from the shallow pond, where dozens of lotus flowers floated peacefully.

A woven basket of plucked flowers sat on the shore, already half-filled. Zhu Huangu checked the panbo strings holding her sleeves back before leaning down to tug up another plant by the stem. The cool water on her bare feet was a nice reprieve from the warm sun, but her arms still ached and sweat seeped through her robe.

Footsteps crunched along the path, and Zhu Huangu looked up. She expected to see a Qian Cao disciple, needing some advice or direction for a new task, or maybe even Qingfang-biaoge taking a much needed-break.

She certainly didn't expect to see Yang Qinghui striding up the path towards her. She froze, her heart suddenly thundering in her ears. The Zui Xian Peak Lord was beautiful – regal, even – in a cross-collar robe as dark blue as the deep sea. Silver and green jade jewellery glittered and clattered as she approached, and Zhu Huangu became keenly aware of how underdressed and dishevelled she was.

There was no time to fix her hair or her robe. She could only stare, clutching the lotus flower in her hands, as Yang Qinghui stopped at the edge of the pond.

She seemed unfazed by Zhu Huangu's less-than-seemly state. She just smiled, that wonderful toothy grin, and bowed her head. "Zhu-xiaojie. I was told I'd find you here."

She's here to see me? Zhu Huangu kicked that hopeful thought away and ensured her expression, at least, was composed. She bowed. "Peak Lord Yang. What brings you to Qian Cao Peak?"

"Well, ostensibly to see Mu-shixiong," Yang Qinghui said, reaching into her robe and withdrawing something wrapped in cloth. She turned it over, almost nervously, and over again. "But to be honest, I… I wanted to see you."

Really?! AAAAH! Internally, Zhu Huangu was somewhere between overjoyed celebration and complete panic. Outwardly, she kept her expression neutral and cleared her throat. "Oh? How can I help?"

Yang Qinghui hesitated – was she blushing? – then began unwrapping the package. "I was in Jinlan City," she said, "and I saw this."

Curious, Zhu Huangu stepped forward, closer to the edge of the pond.

In Yang Qinghui's hands, on the unwrapped cloth, sat a two-pronged gold hairpin. Two black jade lotus flowers bloomed where the prongs connected, curled-around with delicate gold. It was beautiful.

"It's a gift, for you," Yang Qinghui explained.

… For her? Yang Qinghui was gifting her a hairpin? And not just any hairpin – a chai hairpin. A love token.

Zhu Huangu looked up, meeting Yang Qinghui's eyes in shock. She knew, right? What this meant?

"Peak Lord Yang…"

Yang Qinghui smiled nervously. She was definitely blushing. "Forgive me if I'm overstepping, Zhu-xiaojie. The black jade… well, it… it reminded me of your eyes. And I know lotuses are your favourite, so…"

My eyes? Zhu Huangu suddenly recalled the banquet, the poem, so obviously about her.

"Summer warms the mountain peaks.

Lotus flowers bloom in the cool lakes,

like my adoration of her.

I would pick a thousand flowers, and bury her

in sweet petals and green-coin leaves,

if her black jade eyes would glance at me.

I will never look away."

Black jade eyes… Zhu Huangu felt her face redden. She'd never heard that comparison before. In fact, no one had ever complimented her like that, had ever shown so much interest in her, before Yang Qinghui.

"A-and I figured, it's not dangly, so you can probably wear it while you're working," Yang Qinghui continued, rambling. "If- if you even want it. I mean, I completely understand if you – "

Zhu Huangu took the hairpin carefully from Yang Qinghui's palms. Pinching it between two fingers, she deftly gathered all her hair into a bun, and pushed the hairpin through. She tilted her head experimentally – the hairpin stayed secure.

"This works well. Thank you, Peak Lord Yang."

Yang Qinghui stared at her, speechless. Zhu Huangu felt rather embarrassed, and wondered if the hairpin looked bad after all.

"O-of course," Yang Qinghui said, recovering. She smiled cheekily. "If I may say so, you look very pretty."

Any more of this, and Zhu Huangu was likely to fall over into the pond in embarrassment. She bowed. "Thank you very much for your visit and the gift. But I'm afraid I must finish working here."

"Oh, right. Right." Yang Qinghui cleared her throat, and glanced around in embarrassment. "Well, I'll leave you to it. I hope to see you again soon, Zhu-xiaojie."

Zhu Huangu gave a tiny smile. "I hope so as well."

Yang Qinghui returned down the path, a cheerful lightness in her step, and Zhu Huangu turned back to the lotus pond.

Her face burned, and her heart still pounded. She reached up tentatively and brushed the hairpin. It was an almost comforting weight in her hair. As she finished up her work, she was careful to not move too suddenly, lest the hairpin tumble out into the pond.

When she was finished gathering lotus flowers, she stepped out of the pond, dried her feet and slipped on her shoes, and lifted the full basket. From a particular point on the path, one could see over the wall around Mu Qingfang's private garden, catching a glimpse of the neatly-arranged rows of herbs. As Zhu Huangu passed that point, she noticed dark blue robes.

Curiosity outweighed any sense of decorum. Zhu Huangu stood on her toes, peering past the tall bushes to see what was happening. Yang Qinghui stood in the garden, speaking to Mu Qingfang and gesturing animatedly. From that distance, Zhu Huangu couldn't tell if she was upset or happy. Mu Qingfang took one of Yang Qinghui's hands in his own, leaning forward earnestly, and said something. Yang Qinghui seemed to relax a little.

The conversation continued for another few moments. Then the Peak Lords bowed to each other before Yang Qinghui summoned her sword and stepped onto the blade.

Zhu Huangu watched Yang Qinghui soar away, dark-blue robes fluttering in the wind, until she disappeared behind the clouds.

When she looked down again, the garden was empty. Mu Qingfang must have returned to his office. Zhu Huangu continued on to the workshop, and shifted the basket onto one hip to open the door.

The workshop, mostly used for preparing medicines and storing plant components, was well-lit and airy. Each wall held neatly-organized shelves, lined with pots and bottles, or drawers, filled but also well-organized. Mu Qingfang stood at one counter, chopping ginseng with practiced speed and ease. Frowning deeply, he was so absorbed in his task he didn't notice Zhu Huangu enter, set down the basket, or step up beside him.

"Biaoge," she prompted.

Mu Qingfang jumped. "Oh, biaomei! Apologies, I… I was lost in thought."

"Hmph." Zhu Huangu crossed the workshop to her cupboard of embroidery supplies. She considered the basket of silk swatches on the middle shelf. "You need to rest. You work too much, for too long." She picked two swatches – deep purple-red and jade-green.

"I rested at the banquet," Mu Qingfang argued, holding up another ginseng root to inspect it. "That wasn't too long ago."

Zhu Huangu tried not to blush at the mention of the banquet. She chose a spool of sparkling silver thread and one of a darker purple-red from another basket. "What did Peak Lord Yang want?"

Mu Qingfang hesitated, the chopping of his knife slowing. "Nothing important. Just… Peak Lord stuff."

Zhu Huangu rolled her eyes, but didn't press the issue. She took a measuring cord and a needle, and closed the cupboard again. Settling herself on a low couch by the window, she began measuring out the two swatches of silk.

"Is that a new hairpin?" Mu Qingfang asked suddenly.

Zhu Huangu nearly dropped the measuring cord. "Um… yes." Her hand darted to her hair. "Does it look alright?"

"Mm-hmm. It suits you." Mu Qingfang smiled, gathering up the chopped ginseng in a pouch. "I'll see you at dinner." He left, sliding the door gently closed behind him.

Alone with her thoughts in the quiet workshop, Zhu Huangu finished her measurements and began sewing.

There was much to consider about… whatever was happening between her and Yang Qinghui. Clearly the Peak Lord admired Zhu Huangu, but was it simply a passing interest? She knew, of course, of Yang Qinghui's reputation: a cruel, lazy drunk, unfit to be a Peak Lord. But that was not what Zhu Huangu had seen.

Yang Qinghui was funny and kind-hearted. She was easily excited, always ready for a fight. Most of all, she cared deeply about her disciples and her Peak. And Zhu Huangu, it seemed. Besides, even Mu Qingfang admitted that Yang Qinghui had changed since her meditation.

But that didn't mean the path was clear and easy. Zhu Huangu couldn't help but worry – about commitments, family, safety. After all, where had she first met Yang Qinghui? When she'd nearly died fighting a bashe!

Zhu Huangu tended to be far from danger, but as a Peak Lord, Yang Qinghui was right on the frontlines. She could easily die before –

Zhu Huangu exhaled forcefully, shaking her head. What was the point in worrying? Anything might happen, anything might not. It was better to simply take things one step at a time, surely.

She turned her full attention to the project in her hands, ensuring it was perfect.