correct, if she guided humans to virtue and given up the taste for their vitality, she might have earned that elevation. Then Bai Suzhen became her world and her want, and she set all else aside simply to spend long afternoons basking together in the sun, entwined green to white.
Xiaoqing does not resent. But she imagines.
They find the river easily enough. Shrubs profligate along its banks, burying garden paths under mud and growth. Julienne exclaims softly over the shallows, where flame gusts blue-white, where the waters are as often platinum and gold as they are liquid.
"Why did you come, really?"
Julienne barely glances at her. "Who wouldn't want to see what heaven is like?"
Xiaoqing has not prepared for it, for this indifference to pinch her every nerve like Bai Suzhen's teeth. "Lied to the archer, did you?" because returning fire must surely salve the hurt.
"I wanted to know how they live, away from Hong Kong. Their reality. What it is like for them. I want to understand them—they're family, and you can't begin to fathom how important that is."
"Humans weigh themselves down with attachment. No wonder your existences are spent on grief and misery."
Julienne stiffens and for a moment Xiaoqing imagines she has made a puncture. But when the human speaks it is quiet. "People are very lonely. I used to think I'd do anything—be anyone—so I'd have somebody who would stay with me. Just so I wouldn't feel like a failure, just so my flat wouldn't be so empty all the time."
"How many," Xiaoqing finds herself asking, "lovers have you had?"
"Some." Julienne straightens. "Not counting you."
The river twists and climbs, narrowing and curving to accommodate footbridges that go nowhere, stone walls that enclose nothing. Miniature boats swim against the currents, toothed and finned, sometimes bamboo, sometimes wax.
A palace gleams in the east, faceted and crackling with lightning. They've got the right river, at least: Xiaoqing asked Daji for a map, but the fox laughed and said that heaven is not to be charted. As many rivers as there need to be, younger-sister, and as many hills and mountains ordered by the alignment of sun and stars, by the mood of the soil and sediment.
When Xiaoqing wipes her mouth there is blue-black froth on her hand. By the time the sun-chariot sets, her bones are lead, her muscles bruised from friction against tendons and meat.
Ahead of her Julienne passes under a moon gate and disappears. In her wake Xiaoqing sees not the river they have been following but a dining table crusted in pearls, phantoms of women playing tiles. Panic whips through her, but the displacement retreats and there is Julienne looking over her shoulder, puzzled, waiting.
Her knees are weak. She is weak.
"You must be tired," Xiaoqing says, holding herself upright on the vertebrae of her pride. "Shall we stop?"
They find shelter in a pavilion of fabrics that whisper among themselves, under a paper roof of folded animals: turtles and hares, cranes and frogs pecking one another in rustling susurrus. She lies down on a bench woven of lantern tassels.
When she wakes it is night, and each blade of grass thrusting into the pavilion is limned in frost. Julienne averts her eyes when she realizes Xiaoqing is alert.
"You don't have to do that," Xiaoqing murmurs.
"Do what?"
"Pretend you aren't looking at me."
Julienne clenches her hands: at last, a reaction. "How can you be this conceited? But you'd be, wouldn't you? You can be as beautiful as you want, as effortless as you please. I don't know why you bother with makeup."
"Why not? I'm no more able to reshape my form and face than you are. Many demons are hideous. Have you seen Zyu Batgai when he was a pig?" She frowns and shakes her head. Just when she thinks she's begun to understand Julienne, the mortal would say something baffling. "I don't know what so aggrieves you. I'm going to hunt. Do you want anything?"
Very deliberately Julienne says, "I'm sorry, but people don't
Xiaoqing does not resent. But she imagines.
They find the river easily enough. Shrubs profligate along its banks, burying garden paths under mud and growth. Julienne exclaims softly over the shallows, where flame gusts blue-white, where the waters are as often platinum and gold as they are liquid.
"Why did you come, really?"
Julienne barely glances at her. "Who wouldn't want to see what heaven is like?"
Xiaoqing has not prepared for it, for this indifference to pinch her every nerve like Bai Suzhen's teeth. "Lied to the archer, did you?" because returning fire must surely salve the hurt.
"I wanted to know how they live, away from Hong Kong. Their reality. What it is like for them. I want to understand them—they're family, and you can't begin to fathom how important that is."
"Humans weigh themselves down with attachment. No wonder your existences are spent on grief and misery."
Julienne stiffens and for a moment Xiaoqing imagines she has made a puncture. But when the human speaks it is quiet. "People are very lonely. I used to think I'd do anything—be anyone—so I'd have somebody who would stay with me. Just so I wouldn't feel like a failure, just so my flat wouldn't be so empty all the time."
"How many," Xiaoqing finds herself asking, "lovers have you had?"
"Some." Julienne straightens. "Not counting you."
The river twists and climbs, narrowing and curving to accommodate footbridges that go nowhere, stone walls that enclose nothing. Miniature boats swim against the currents, toothed and finned, sometimes bamboo, sometimes wax.
A palace gleams in the east, faceted and crackling with lightning. They've got the right river, at least: Xiaoqing asked Daji for a map, but the fox laughed and said that heaven is not to be charted. As many rivers as there need to be, younger-sister, and as many hills and mountains ordered by the alignment of sun and stars, by the mood of the soil and sediment.
When Xiaoqing wipes her mouth there is blue-black froth on her hand. By the time the sun-chariot sets, her bones are lead, her muscles bruised from friction against tendons and meat.
Ahead of her Julienne passes under a moon gate and disappears. In her wake Xiaoqing sees not the river they have been following but a dining table crusted in pearls, phantoms of women playing tiles. Panic whips through her, but the displacement retreats and there is Julienne looking over her shoulder, puzzled, waiting.
Her knees are weak. She is weak.
"You must be tired," Xiaoqing says, holding herself upright on the vertebrae of her pride. "Shall we stop?"
They find shelter in a pavilion of fabrics that whisper among themselves, under a paper roof of folded animals: turtles and hares, cranes and frogs pecking one another in rustling susurrus. She lies down on a bench woven of lantern tassels.
When she wakes it is night, and each blade of grass thrusting into the pavilion is limned in frost. Julienne averts her eyes when she realizes Xiaoqing is alert.
"You don't have to do that," Xiaoqing murmurs.
"Do what?"
"Pretend you aren't looking at me."
Julienne clenches her hands: at last, a reaction. "How can you be this conceited? But you'd be, wouldn't you? You can be as beautiful as you want, as effortless as you please. I don't know why you bother with makeup."
"Why not? I'm no more able to reshape my form and face than you are. Many demons are hideous. Have you seen Zyu Batgai when he was a pig?" She frowns and shakes her head. Just when she thinks she's begun to understand Julienne, the mortal would say something baffling. "I don't know what so aggrieves you. I'm going to hunt. Do you want anything?"
Very deliberately Julienne says, "I'm sorry, but people don't
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