Qujiang’s oars had not come to a stop yet, and Du Heng’s soul had already drifted into a dream.
He felt his eyelids heavy as if weighed down with lead, but his mind spun faster than a spinning wheel, full of Princess Changle’s face, the warmth when her soft sleeve brushed his wrist, the crescent moon curve at the corner of her smiling eyes, and the faint scent of peach blossoms that clung to her when she spoke, so he could not bear to wake.
He curled up under the covers with the tips of his toes still chilled from the night air, but his chest burned warm and even his breathing tasted a little sweet, and in the dream he followed the princess back to Lizheng Hall, where the palace doors opened with a scattering breeze and the hall smelled of clear sandalwood incense mingled with the pale jasmine on the windowsill.
The princess sat on the window-side couch reading, sunlight filtered through the carved lattice and scattered over the tips of her hair like torn gold, and even the strands that fell over her shoulder gleamed with a gentle light, while he stood rooted at the door, unsure where to put his hands and feet as if he had intruded somewhere he ought not to be, so nervous his palms broke out in sweat.
The princess looked up first, her lashes trembled and the corner of her mouth curved into a soft smile as she said, “Silly, what are you standing there for? Come over and look at this newly grown jasmine,” and her voice was like warm water steeped with honey that seeped along his ear into his heart so that Du Heng felt his whole body loosen and he shuffled forward slowly.
On the little table beside the couch, the jasmine in a celadon pot had opened two blossoms, their tender white petals wrapping pale yellow stamens and giving off a clean, refreshing scent when you leaned close, and the moment his fingertip brushed the rim of the pot the princess lightly tapped the back of his hand with a softness like a feather that left his hand pleasantly numb.
“Be careful of the thorns; the edge of this pot is rough,” the princess said, her fingertip still resting on the back of his hand and warm and soft like the mutton-fat jade he had once found in the mountains, even more comfortable than the finest silk he had ever touched.
He froze for an instant, lowering his breathing and staring straight at the princess’s hand as his mind scrambled… her hand was softer than he had imagined, and he wished he could touch it a little longer, and as if seeing through his thoughts the princess withdrew her hand and laughed while pinching his arm and asked, “Why the daze; do you like the jasmine?”
He came to his senses and nodded in a fluster, answering awkwardly, “Yes, it is beautiful, much more beautiful than the wildflowers I saw in the mountains,” and the princess laughed at him, the crescent at the corner of her eye deepening and making the sandalwood incense in the hall seem several degrees sweeter.
While he smiled foolishly, the scene in the dream shifted again and this time they were under a peach tree on the banks of Qujiang Pool, spring wind shaking the tree until peach blossoms fell in a soft shower that covered them and the grass beneath their feet like a flower carpet.
The princess crouched to pick petals, the goose-yellow hem of her skirt brushed the grass and gathered dewdrops like a string of tiny pearls, and she pinched petals into a bamboo basket with movements so careful it seemed she feared damaging a treasure, so Du Heng hurried to crouch beside her and the moment his finger brushed a petal it accidentally touched her fingertip and they both paused.
Her fingertips were softer than the petals and carried a faint coolness like spring water scooped from a well, and the princess smiled first as her cheeks flushed redder than the peach blossom resting on her shoulder and teased, “Why are you always so clumsy; even picking petals you rush.”
He wanted to explain that it was not deliberate but only managed a foolish grin and handed over the large handful of petals he had collected while secretly thinking that if he could pick peach blossoms with the princess every day he would gladly water and fertilize that peach tree for her, wake in the middle of the night to chase away the bugs that stole petals, anything at all.
The princess accepted the petals, smiled, and held the bamboo basket out to him saying, “Your petals look prettier than mine; shall we use these to make peach blossom cakes later?” and he nodded so eagerly his head bobbed like a rattle and his eyes shone like stars because making peach blossom cakes with the princess was more delightful to him than inventing ten new devices.
They crouched under the peach tree, picking petals back and forth, and when a breeze blew petals into the princess’s hair Du Heng could not help reaching out to brush them away but hesitated halfway because he feared being clumsy and earning her laughter.
The princess noticed and reached up to remove the petal herself, placing it in his palm and saying, “Here, this petal is whole and will make a prettier cake,” and he held that petal in his warm palm, the petal itself seeming to have warmth.
A stronger gust of wind pressed the princess’s hair to her cheek and when she reached to tuck it behind her ear she was tickled by the fine fuzz on a petal and sneezed a little, her nose flushing like a ripe cherry.
Seeing this, Du Heng immediately leaned over and gently tucked the hair at her cheek behind her ear, his fingertip brushing her earlobe with a soft warmth, and the princess was startled into stillness, looking up at him with eyes bright like two pools of spring water as they drew very close so he could see the fine fuzz on her eyelashes and smell the faint peach blossom scent in her hair and feel her warm breath on his cheek, which made his heart thump like a little rabbit.
Somewhere a courage came over him and he stared at the princess’s lips, which were pinker than the peach petal that had fallen near them, and in a rush he leaned in slowly.
The princess did not pull away; her lashes trembled like a frightened butterfly as his lips brushed hers lightly, soft as cotton candy and faintly scented with the preserved fruit she had been eating, and that feather-light touch made him tingle from head to toe and set his fingertips burning.
He panicked and tried to pull back, but the princess gently caught his sleeve and murmured, “Silly, why are you in such a hurry to leave?”
He froze, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest, and seeing the princess’s flushed cheeks he summoned his courage and kissed her again, this time a little more firmly so he could feel the softness of her lips, and he pulled away after a short moment, his ears burning so hot he felt they would bleed as he stammered, “Princess, I…” only to be interrupted by the princess laughing and saying, “You silly thing, your face is completely red,” and she pinched his cheek, her fingertip warmth making him more nervous but leaving him unwilling to pull away.
Suddenly a sweet scent drifted from the princess’s embroidered pouch, and she took out a small silver box to reveal translucent preserved fruits in crabapple, lychee, and the waxberry flavor he had once casually mentioned he liked.
“I heard you said you like these, so I had the Imperial Kitchen make some specially, thinking that if I met you again I would bring some,” the princess said in her soft voice like a spring breeze across a lake, and he reached for the silver box but when his fingers met hers a rush of heat traveled from his fingertip to his chest and he forgot even to taste the preserved fruit as he simply stared at the princess’s smiling face, where a small dimple deeper than the sweetness of any preserved fruit appeared whenever she smiled.
Noticing he had not eaten, she poked his cheek with her fingertip and asked, “Silly, why aren’t you eating; does it not taste good?” and he finally snapped out of it, popped a waxberry preserved fruit into his mouth, and the sweet-and-sour flavor spread across his tongue and tasted better than any sweet he had tried.
“It tastes good, even better than my mother’s jujube cake,” he mumbled with his mouth full, making the princess laugh as she wiped the corner of his mouth and teased, “Eat slowly, there’s no one competing with you,” her fingertip rubbing his lips with a softness and a preserved-fruit sweetness that made his face feel like it would catch fire.
The scene shifted again to his small workshop where unfinished little wooden boxes still sat on the table and a jar of rose dew caught the sunlight through the skylight and cast the princess’s shadow long, and she leaned over to poke the rose dew bottle with her fingertip so the glass reflected light and made her fingertip sparkle.
She picked up the bottle to smell it and her eyes lit up like they were full of stars as she said, “This scent is really elegant, much nicer than the overpowering powders the Imperial Kitchen uses.”
He felt sweeter than if he had drunk honey and hurriedly took from the drawer a freshly made Heart-Scent Balm, explaining that the beeswax came from a beekeeper he bargained with in summer and was perfectly pure and that he had even added a dried rose petal from the Qujiang peach tree that had taken days to dry properly.
He handed the balm to the princess with trembling hands and told her, “This is more moisturizing and will protect your hands; you won’t feel the cold in winter,” and she let her fingertip skim the balm surface and said with a smile, “You are thoughtful to think of such things.”
He scratched his head with red ears, wanting to say, “I am thoughtful only for you,” but swallowed the words because the courage he had in dreams never matched the boldness he had when designing Xiaoyao Tower or improving medicinal formulas, and he could only stare at the tips of the princess’s hair and grin dully as sunlight fell on the strands and even the tiny fuzz was visible.
The princess laughed at his expression and brought the balm to her nose to smell again, saying, “I really like this balm.”
He felt as if flowers had burst open in his chest and hurried to fetch a strand of glass sugar he had strung together… glass sugar made by his own recipe, crystalline and strung on fine hemp thread that glittered in the sunlight like a galaxy on a string… and he handed it to the princess, saying, “You can wear this too; it’s pretty and edible, so if you feel peckish, eat one.”
The princess examined the glass sugar chain in her palm, then lifted it into the sun so the reflected light lit her face and made her skin look even whiter as she said, “It’s so pretty, like stars strung together,” and she put the chain on her wrist where it chimed softly like wind chimes when she moved.
Watching the sugar chain on the princess’s wrist and her smiling face filled him with such contentment that he thought he would be happy to stay in the little workshop with her forever, making small things, watching her play with the glass sugar chain and smelling the rose dew; and just as he was about to tell her he would make more little items next time, such as a small wooden box carved with peach blossom patterns to hold balm, a rooster crowed outside and yanked him from his dream.
Du Heng shot awake, the oil lamp still dimly burning with a small lamp-flower on the wick and the room faintly smelling of oil, and he looked down to find a peach blossom petal he had picked from Qujiang during the day crumpled in his hand with his sweat on the edge.
He sat up and touched his flushed cheek and laughed aloud because the warmth from the dream seemed to linger on his lips and the memory of the princess’s soft lips, the sweetness of the kiss, and the jasmine scent were so vivid they felt as if they had really happened.
He grabbed the birch bark by his bedside and a brush, ignoring for the moment how many customers Xiaoyao Tower might need or how many recipe revisions the medicines required, and hurriedly recorded the dream scene line by line: the jasmine scent in Lizheng Hall, the softness when the princess patted his hand, the sweet kiss under the peach tree, the waxberry preserved fruit in the silver box, the princess’s smile when she wore the glass sugar chain, and the phrase that made his heart race, “Silly, why are you in such a hurry to leave,” the pen scratching across the birch bark so rapidly the ink almost splattered because he feared losing any detail… even the tremor of her lashes when she kissed him.
While writing he began imagining more: if he could kiss the princess under the peach tree again he would be braver and not so flustered; if he could hand the balm to her himself he would finally say, “I am thoughtful only for you”; if she would call him “silly” again he would gladly be teased by her for a lifetime.
He planned that next time if he dreamt of the princess he would take her to see the sunflowers he had planted that were now in bloom and golden, and make her his new sweet soup with red dates, longan, and the wild honey he gathered in the mountains so it would be sweet but not cloying and just to her taste.
He folded the birch bark filled with dream notes carefully and slipped it under his pillow so perhaps he might continue the dream at night and spend a little more time with the princess under the peach tree, and he smelled the peach blossom petal pinned under his nose… though the dream scent was gone, he still felt the princess’s fragrance and remembered the sweet kiss.
The sky was just beginning to pale in the east and the yard’s rooster crowed again, but he felt no sleepiness as his mind brimmed with possibilities for what he and the princess might do in the next dream.
He thought that in the next dream he could go boating on Qujiang with the princess, rowing slowly so she could admire the lotus flowers in the pool and perhaps hold her hand on the boat; he could teach her to sand and polish small wooden boxes in his workshop while she taught him how to fold kites, and when their kite was done they could go to the yard and fly it and watch their wishes soar high into the sky; and if it was winter they could build a snowman together, and when it was finished he might steal another gentle kiss like in the dream.
His excitement grew until he could not help getting out of bed to open the window a crack so the cool morning air could blow in, and he looked at the small peach tree in the yard that the villagers had transplanted from the banks of Qujiang Pool because they had seen him and the princess growing close, and though it had not yet bloomed small green buds were already sprouting on the branches full of life.
He thought that when this peach tree finally bloomed, being able to pick petals with the princess and make peach blossom cakes and kiss her under the tree as in his dream would be wonderful, and even though waking meant dealing with building Xiaoyao Tower and earning copper coin, as long as the dream contained the princess’s soft jade-like fragrance and that sweet kiss, he would gladly wake each day and keep working and inventing with joy.
He patted the birch bark under his pillow as if he could still feel the warmth of the dream kiss and knew that as long as he worked hard to build Xiaoyao Tower and improve his prescriptions, one day the dream would become reality and then he could truly pick peach blossoms with the princess, make peach blossom cakes with her, hand her balm and the glass sugar chain himself, really kiss her under the peach tree, and really hear her call him “silly,” and the thought filled him with burning enthusiasm that washed away his fatigue and left only drive.