Page 11 of Song of the Crimson Flower

But before Chung could say more, Minister Vu cleared his throat. “I think we ought to talk of pleasanter things now,” he said, with a swift glance at his scowling wife.

As her brothers obediently began to discuss the weather, Lan sat poking listlessly at her food. All of this talk of the Gray City, of places and people and happenings far from home, stirred something in her that had lain dormant for a year. Since Bà n?i’s death, she had shut away any lingering desire to see the world. She had closed off that side of her, focusing all of her effort on becoming a bride and making her parents proud. But that was all over now.

A deep, sinking grief settled into Lan’s core, where her love for Tam had once been... and yet there was a thread of an idea, too: what if this was a chance to go somewhere new at last? To fulfill the childhood hope her grandmother had encouraged? She could leave home, Tam, the Huynhs, and her terrible shame behind her, at least for a little while.

Impatiently, she waited for her brothers and their families to finish eating and leave the table. “Ba, Mama,” she said, when she and her parents were alone at last. “May I go and stay with my aunt in the south for a while? I need some time away.”

Minister and Lady Vu exchanged glances. “It isn’t safe for you to travel south just now, my child,” her father said gently. “My guess is that our king and Empress Jade are days away from declaring war upon the GrayCity. They’ve rejected every royal order to stop producing black spice, and the roads are teeming with smugglers going north to sell the drug.”

“But you said our relatives would be safe,” Lan told him, agitated. “My aunt there—”

“She and her family are far enough away from the Gray City that I do not fear for them. But it will be risky for a young woman to travel that road. I’m sorry.” Minister Vu gave her a kindly smile, but Lan knew he would not budge on this matter. “I cannot part with my daughter—unless perhaps you manage to persuade the Commander of the Great Forest to escort you.”

Lan knew he was trying to make her laugh, so she forced a smile for him. The deflated hope clung to her chest like trapped air—she had wanted so badly to escape for a time.

“And we still don’t understand enough about that horrid disease. Even if the roads were safe, I wouldn’t want you to risk your health,” Lady Vu pointed out. She placed a gentle hand on Lan’s shoulder. “Poor little daughter, you’ve been through a difficult time.”

“I blame myself,” Minister Vu said. “I should have been harder on the Huynhs. I should have gone to greater lengths to find out the reason behind this delay.”

“Please don’t be hard on yourself, Ba. You only wanted the best for me.” Lan sighed. “In any case, I plan to find Bao and apologize today. I was unkind, and I need to make amends.”

Once again, her parents exchanged glances. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, my love,” Lady Vu said carefully. “Bao is gone for good. He took his belongings and his boat and left yesterday.”

Lan’s stomach dropped. “Gone for good? Can this be true?” she cried. He had vanished without giving her a chance to make things right... but considering how awful she had been to him, she couldn’t blamehim. A stitch formed in her chest, cold and tight, at the thought of him out there somewhere, despising her, while she held on to this terrible guilt forever.

“Don’t fret,” Minister Vu reassured her. “I am sure that time will soften your words.”

But Lan knew that her father didn’t understand. He hadn’t been there. He hadn’t heard her speak the most painful words she could find, eager to make Bao hurt as much as she did. He hadn’t heard her use the poisonous sentiments Madam Huynh had flung at Bao his entire life.

And when Lan went back up to her lonely, dark room, all she could think was:Bao will never know how I regret it, and he will never forgive me.

6

Bao flung himself into the rowboat and pushed off from shore, grateful that the Huynhs lived close enough to the river that he could make a quick getaway. He thought with regret of Ông Hung and Chú Minh and everyone else in the river market he would never see again, but he couldn’t stay a second longer. He couldn’t let anyone see his tears and demand to know what was wrong, because speaking of what had just happened might destroy him.

He had fled the Vu house an hour ago, taking the carriage and stranding Madam Huynh. She deserved it, and anyway, it wasn’t like he would have a job to lose anymore. He was sure she would go home and fill her husband’s ears with her glee and hatred, and Bao would rather leave before seeing the shame and disappointment in Master Huynh’s eyes. And so he had gathered his few possessions and made for the river, sailing away as fast as his oars could take him.

The bamboo flute slipped out of his bundle as Bao rowed, despite all of his efforts to hide it from view. He couldn’t bring himself to destroyit, not when it had been such a comfort once. But he also didn’t want to look at it. He would never play it again without thinking about today.

He turned the oars furiously, desperate to put distance between him and the girl he loved. The girl he hadonceloved. But Lan’s voice kept echoing in his mind.

“You, anorphanof no family! And I, the daughter of a royal minister!”

The way she had spat the words had brought back terrible memories of cowering in corners, eating scraps from the floor, and crying himself to sleep whenever the physician was away, for that was when Madam Huynh had been cruelest. Bao had never spoken of Lan and Madam Huynh in the same breath; one he had adored, and the other he had reviled. But now he saw that underneath it all, they were the same.

“You mean nothing to me, Bao. You never have. You’re a peasant.”

He roared with frustration, but still it could not block out Lan’s voice.

All these years, he had built her up to be perfect. He had worshipped everything about her: the shine of her midnight hair, the graceful way she walked, her laugh, her smile. He had adored the way she loved and respected her parents, and marveled over how her entire family cherished her, from her older brothers to her youngest nieces and nephews.

What he hadn’t known was that it had all been a façade. She and Tam were the same—they were selfish and prejudiced and had never seen Bao as worthy of anything. The princess Bao had imagined in his mind—with her head tipped to the moon, as though his music made her feel closer to the heavens—had been a trick his own hungry soul had played upon him.

“Hello, there!” a man called.

Bao’s throat went dry when he recognized Chú Minh rowing in theopposite direction. Every fiber of his being longed to ignore him, but Bao didn’t dare show such disrespect, not to someone who had been so kind to him. He stopped, palms stinging from gripping the rough oars.

The fisherman pulled up alongside Bao. “Why are you rowing like a demon is after you?”

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