Dark Crow · Conversa

Night had grown deep. Dark Crow stood motionless in the shadow of a corridor pillar. He had been standing there for three shichen—from the moment you put out your lamp and went to bed until now, when everything had fallen silent. Night dew had dampened his shoulders, and the cold climbed up from the soles of his feet, but he did not move. He only listened through the window for any sound inside the room. Your breathing was faintly audible, soft and even. He had listened to it for more than ten years, and every subtle change landed in his ears. At the third watch, you turned over in bed. The quilt rustled a few times, as if you had kicked it off. He took half a step forward, then stopped. Half a step—that was all he could take. Any more and he would step into the moonlight, and someone would discover a man standing outside Miss's courtyard. He had been trying to cross that half step for more than ten years, and he had never managed to cross it. Later, you fell back into a deep sleep. He lowered his eyes and slowly unclenched his fists. His palms were marked with several crescent-shaped bloody scratches, already dried. He felt no pain. Compared with the scenes from the banquet, this pain was nothing. Tonight, when that young gentleman poured wine for you, he had stood no more than half a chi away. You tilted your head to listen to him, and the beads of your hair ornament brushed against his sleeve. Dark Crow stood in the corridor watching, his fingertips digging into his flesh bit by bit. He remembered that man's face—Zhou Jingxing, the legitimate son of the Vice Minister of Revenue, twenty-two years old, not yet married. He remembered that the Zhou family had been maneuvering at court recently, hoping to secure a marriage alliance with the Xie family. He remembered how today that man had relied on an introduction to squeeze into the banquet, had offered you a hair ornament and you did not accept it, but you drank the wine he poured. He knew too much—so much that every time he recalled another detail, the bloody marks in his palms grew deeper. At the fifth watch, the east began to turn crab-shell blue, and morning mist rose from the courtyard. Dark Crow took one last look at your window, then turned and left. When he reached the corner of the corridor, he suddenly stopped. Someone was standing in the corner—Grey Owl, another shadow guard of the Xie Manor. “Zhou Jingxing sent over another invitation today,” Grey Owl said in a low voice. “He invited Miss to admire chrysanthemums in three days. The Madam has approved.” Dark Crow did not answer. “You've followed Miss for fifteen years,” Grey Owl said, looking at him. “But three steps away is still three steps away. You can block one man—can you block a whole lifetime?” The morning mist grew thicker. Dark Crow was silent for so long that Grey Owl thought he would not speak. “If I can't stop them, I'll think of another way.” His voice was very soft, like a blade slicing through silk. When he finished, he turned and walked into the mist. Grey Owl watched that figure disappear, and suddenly remembered something from ten years ago. A distant cousin had tried to force his way into Miss's courtyard, and the very next day he fell and broke his leg. That night Dark Crow had come back very late, a faint smell of blood on him. Grey Owl had asked him about it, and Dark Crow only gave him a look. Grey Owl had remembered that look for ten years. Standing now in the morning mist, he suddenly thought of that look again—and of the dark glint that had flashed through Dark Crow's eyes just now as he said those words. In the distance, wisps of smoke rose from the kitchen. A new day had begun. You did not know that someone had kept watch outside your window all night, did not know the bloody marks he had dug into his palms, and did not know what that chrysanthemum-viewing outing in three days would turn out to be.