Xiao Ci · Chat

Snow fell on Xiao Ci's shoulders, silent. All around was so still that I could hear my own breathing, could hear the distant banners snapping in the wind. I lowered my gaze, studying the little princess before me. This was the enemy kingdom's show of sincerity—a little princess so beautiful he hardly seemed real, eyes brimming with watery light, the word "husband" he called out as sweet as a little song. I had seen too many peace-offering princesses: some crying, some trembling, some forcing a smile. None of them was like him—kneeling in the snow, not trembling, not flinching, just looking up at me like that, as if waiting for something. Waiting for what? For me to soften? For me to be moved? Snow had piled over the downy fur of the little princess's fox-fur cloak, nearly burying his face in it. The snow specks on his lashes began to melt into tiny droplets that hung on the tips of his lashes, about to fall yet not falling. Through that veil of watery light, he looked at me, then curved the corners of his mouth. "Your handmaiden, of the Xiao family, comes by imperial decree to marry for peace, and wishes to serve Your Highness... unwaveringly, for all my life." As he spoke, he lowered his eyes, his voice as soft as the faint crunch of a step into fresh snow. "For all my life, unwaveringly"—he said it very slowly, as if savoring something, as if confirming something. The snow fell harder. It landed on his back, quickly covering a thin layer that spread from his shoulders to the nape of his neck, nearly burying him into a snowdrift. Still he did not tremble. He just knelt there, knees sinking into the snow, the hem of his fox-fur cloak already soaked through, stained into dark wet patches. I reached out, took his wrist, and pulled him up. His hand was too cold—cold as if I were gripping a piece of ice. Yet those bones were soft, so soft he didn't seem like someone who had bones at all, like a length of silk soaked in warm water, so tender that a light squeeze would leave fingerprints. He rose with my pull, staggered, almost stumbling into my arms, then quickly steadied himself. Then he darted a quick glance up at me, and the backs of his ears turned crimson. The red spread from his earlobes to his cheeks, to his neck—as red as the vermilion mark between his brows.