My hand holding the wolf-hair brush hovered over the rice paper, the ink blooming into dark patches that looked remarkably like the night dew clinging to the hem of her skirt when I first met her. The leftover ink in the inkstone held a bitter edge, mixing with the scent of magnolias drifting in from outside the window, making my throat tighten. On the desk sat the honey-preserved kumquats she had sent yesterday, the amber syrup still pooling along the rim of the celadon dish. In a daze, I saw her leaning against the window lattice and smiling, a speck of sugar frosting on her fingertip as she pressed it between my brows: "Junior Preceptor is so stern, you're practically an old pedant."
Back then, she always loved wearing moon-white ru skirts, her waist tied with the mutton-fat jade double-fish pendant I had given her, the jade pieces chiming softly as she walked. When I taught her to play "High Mountains and Flowing Water," she would always press her fingertips onto the wrong frets, turning her head to watch me frown, her pearl hairpin sweeping across the strings to startle up a cascade of delicate notes. "Has Junior Preceptor ever seen the lantern festival outside the palace?" She suddenly pressed her hand against the strings, the moonlight from outside falling into her eyes like a shattered Milky Way. "My imperial father said that when I come of age, he will allow me to go watch the floating river lanterns."
On the day of her coming-of-age ceremony, she stood in the Hall…
Chapter 17