Behind the Willows, Love Blossomed Softly

"Father's going to give me something nice tonight, isn't he, Xiaojun?" demanded Mao Xiang as she preened before the mirror. "I heard that he ordered the kitchen to make my favourite dishes tonight."

Xiaojun nodded, hurrying to present her mistress with a selection of earrings. "Of course, it's been days since you last came out of your room. He must be happy to see you back to yourself again. Which pair of earrings would you like to wear today, Miss?"

Mao Xiang's fingers roved delicately among the sparkling gems. She selected a jade drop and held it up to the light. "We won't talk about that now," she said haughtily. "If you are wise, Xiaojun, you are not to refer to that period in the past ever again. I was unwell, that was all. Briefly so. I've completely recovered now."

Fastening the earrings in her earlobes, she stood up and twirled around experimentally in front of the mirror, admiring how the embroidered folds glistened. "How could it be possible that I, the most beautiful and accomplished young lady in the district, would have fallen for an ugly woodcutter like him? Pah! He'd better dream on. I don't want to see him again, just the sight of that face makes me want to vomit! What humiliation. I'll have him beaten if he dares come near me again."

Xiaojun wisely held her tongue, though she was remembering how just several days ago her young mistress had demanded wildly, "But Xiaojun, I haven't seen him at all yesterday or today--not a glimpse! How will he possibly notice me if he doesn't see me? Ah, I'm so vexed I could die!"

Mao Xiang smoothed back a wisp of hair and simpered at herself, pleased with what she saw. Two days ago she had suddenly woken up, remembering all the details of her infatuation, and yet without any of the emotion. Utterly disgusted, and humiliated, she had moped in her room, refusing to go out, alternately throwing tantrums and trying to reason out an explanation for her behaviour that wouldn't embarrass her. At last, she had decided it was best to treat the whole thing as a preposterous rumour that Yuanzheng, pining hopelessly for her, had cooked up. Immediately she felt much better. When Xiaojun had come running to eagerly tell her that Han Sheng had informed her the Master had especially requested for her to prepare for dinner tonight, she had perked up.

"Father's probably worried that I didn't come out of my room," she remarked chattily. "He didn't come ask about me because he was busy, but you see, he was definitely worried. Now he's going to make up for it by getting me something nice, and preparing a feast for me!"

"I hope it's some pearls," she added, holding out her arms so Xiaojun could straighten her sleeves. "I've been wanting some pearls for a while, and I have plenty of jade already. Do you think he'll give me a pearl string?"

"Well, I heard that he went over to Lord Yang's yesterday," Xiaojun giggled. "And you know Lord Yang often sends you expensive gifts."

Mao Xiang smiled. She gave a happy sigh. "Well, I'll tolerate that old monkey then," she said carelessly. "Maybe I'll give him a smile next time I see him."

She swept out of the room. "Come on, Xiaojun. I'm hungry."

Xiaojun hurried after her, looking bright and rosy. She was thoroughly relieved that the whole nightmarish episode was over, and that Young Mistress was herself again.

Or maybe her heart was still fluttering from when Han Sheng approached her. The little maid smiled shyly to herself. One hand crept up timidly to her cheek, which had felt warm.

Though they lived in the same manor and served the same family, she had barely exchanged more than a few words at a time with Han Sheng. He was always so preoccupied and busy with serving the Master. He never seemed to really look at her, yet every time she saw his eyes on her, or felt his shadow fall across her, she would start violently and her heart would pound almost as if she had done something wrong.

He didn't know how many afternoons she had spent as a young girl, abandoning her chores to hide behind the willows in the courtyard and secretly watch him training.

She had been mesmerized by how fast and powerful his strokes were, and the silent determination on his face, dripping with sweat. How diligently he practised even when there was no one to force him to. The servants always talked about him in whispers; he was not popular, but no one spoke of him without grudging respect. For Xiaojun, that was something. To be Sir Mao's right-hand man, to be so useful, and so loyal. Han Sheng was different from all the other servants. He had embraced his role and set his whole mind to become more than what Sir Mao had expected of him. Like Sir Mao had promised, he realized that once he became useful to his master, it was power for himself.

Xiaojun would watch him, admiring his skills, wondering why he hardly smiled. And then, one of those afternoons listening to the wind whistling sharply through the leaves from the strokes of his sword, she made the fatal mistake of wondering whether he would smile more if he ever fell in love. And then she fell into an even greater mistake, imagining if she were that girl.

She knew she was being foolish, but even the lowliest of maidservants could daydream. No one could take that from her, at least.

Her hand smoothed back the little wisps of hair hastily. Before helping Mao Xiang with her toilette, Xiaojun had done her best to make herself pretty. She did not have any of Miss Mao's beautiful clothes or jewellery, but she had worn her one silver hairpin, and touched her lips with the smallest smudge of rouge. Twice she had guiltily rubbed it off, afraid that Miss Mao would notice, only to give in and apply it again. After all that rubbing, even without the rouge her lips would have been red enough.

Tonight she would be sitting behind Miss Mao. And Han Sheng, undoubtedly, would be standing behind Sir Mao. Across from her.