“Dinner is served at five in the afternoon, and then it’s time for bed.” A Ya snapped the freshly washed handkerchief twice. “It’s like this every day, day after day, year after year.”
The fourth day.
The sun was warm, so I carried a low stool beneath the eaves and sat in the sunshine. This body was terribly malnourished; even the spaces between my bones seemed to radiate cold. Maybe the sun would help.
A Ya was watering the shrubs in the courtyard.
A Zhen squatted in the corner, mending a cracked pottery vat. She used gray mud to seal the split, her movements practiced.
Watching their busy backs, I suddenly felt as if none of this were real.
As if these were ordinary days.
But this was no ordinary place. In the cracks between the paving stones beneath the eaves where I sat, there were dark stains that might have been resin or something else. Dull thuds occasionally came from beyond the courtyard wall. I couldn’t tell whether it was a stonemason chiseling rock or some other sound.
Don’t think about it. I closed my eyes. One more day alive was one more day.
As A Ya helped comb my hair, she added a few more details about the Witch King’s daily routine.
“The Witch King has rules for going to bed, too. He gets onto the bed at a quarter past seven, and must be asleep by nine. Before sleeping, a special calming incense has to be burned. The maids kneel outside the curtains and keep watch until dawn, with a new group taking over every half-hour.”
A new group every half-hour.
I wondered how many groups that would be over the course of a whole night.
“They say the Witch King is a very light sleeper. The slightest sound wakes him.” A Ya paused. “Since you share a bed with him, doesn’t that mean you hardly dare sleep?”
I reached out and patted the back of her hand. To be honest, I hadn’t even tried to control myself. Was I really such a quiet sleeper?
That was absurd. I knew perfectly well what I was like in my sleep. I used to wake up every morning with my pillow on the floor.
That night, I lay on the wooden bed, staring at the beams overhead.
A Ya’s information ran through my mind again and again.
The Witch King’s systematic approach to regulating his life probably couldn’t be explained by habit alone.
How did it go in Ghost Blows Out the Light? King Xian was obsessed with immortality and believed that everything in the universe followed a fixed order. The human body was also a finely tuned celestial mechanism; as long as it operated according to the proper rhythms, decay could be delayed.
I still couldn’t be sure whether the Witch King and King Xian were the same person, but they were obviously pursuing the same thing. So, doing certain things at specific times was for health and longevity. The Witch King taking bed attendants was also about following a routine. I remembered once watching an educational video that said it wasn’t good for adult men to abstain for too long, either. There was an appropriate time for everything.
The seventh day. Early morning.
I was squatting by the well, helping A Ya wash pottery bowls.
A Ya sat beside me, washing and grumbling that the pastries sent over from the kitchens yesterday had been too hard and difficult to chew.
I listened while she talked, and lent a hand when she was busy. When she had some free time, she sat beside me and chatted about this and that.
A Ya didn’t treat me like her mistress—not out of disrespect, but simply because she was used to it.
The Witch King hadn’t had a bed attendant before. A Ya just thought of me as a maid much like herself, except that I had a somewhat special status and couldn’t speak.
I didn’t correct her.
Only by treating A Ya as an equal could I keep her off guard and learn more.
As we washed, the courtyard gate was pushed open from outside.
Two Gray-Robed Maids stood at the entrance.
They didn’t enter the courtyard. They simply stood side by side, eyes lowered, waiting.
The pottery bowl nearly slipped from A Ya’s hands.
I set down the bowl I was holding and wiped my hands on my apron.
What was coming would come.
A Ya turned to look at me with concern.
I smiled at her.
I followed the two Gray-Robed Maids out of the courtyard. We crossed a covered walkway, boarded a palanquin, then passed through an even longer passageway.
The route was exactly the same as last time, but this time I looked up at the scenery along the way. We passed an open stone platform. In its center stood a huge bronze pillar, with a bronze bird perched atop it, wings spread. Its beak was long and sharp.
The palanquin didn’t stop; it went straight past.
We arrived at the familiar room. The floral scent was unchanged, as were the curtains. The outer room was still spotless.
The Gray-Robed Maid knelt outside the door, and I lifted the curtains myself and entered the inner chamber.
An old man knelt beside the low bed. His hair and beard were completely white, his back hunched. He held a small, pitch-black box aloft in both hands.
The lid was open. Inside lay a dark red elixir, its surface gleaming with an unnatural sheen.
The medicinal scent washed over me.
It was more than ten times stronger than the faint herbal smell I’d noticed on the Witch King. It burrowed straight into my nostrils—sweet with a bitter edge, and beneath the bitterness was an indescribable, fishy odor.
The Witch King sat on the low bed, picked up the elixir, and put it in his mouth.
The old man continued holding the empty box, perfectly motionless.
I stood by the curtains, not daring to make any unnecessary movements.
The Witch King’s pupils seemed a little lighter than before. Maybe it was the candlelight.
He waved the old man away.
The old man took the box and retreated on his knees. Only after he had backed beyond the curtains did he stand.
The curtains fell, shutting out the light from the outer room. Once again, only the three dim bronze lamps remained in the inner chamber.
The Witch King’s gaze shifted to me.
He seized my wrist and pulled me onto the low bed.
My sash was untied.
My outer robe was removed.
The process was almost exactly the same as it had been seven days ago.
But this time, I wasn’t as nervous as before. It wasn’t because I’d gotten used to it. I’d discovered something.
He didn’t enjoy this.
Last time, I’d been too frightened, with my mind full of nothing but “How do I survive?” I hadn’t paid attention. This time, a little calmer, I could see it.
His breathing remained steady throughout.
His face showed no expression at all.
His movements were almost mechanical, with a consistent rhythm and force, as if he were completing a prescribed procedure.
I guessed that every seven days, he performed the bedroom ritual.
This was also part of the “procedure.”
I tilted my head and watched the flame on the lampstand.
His hand was braced beside my ear, and the pulse on the inside of his wrist rested against my skin.
Abnormally slow.
It was over.
The Witch King turned over and lay back on the inner side of the bed. As usual, he pulled the thin blanket over himself, closed his eyes, and within a few breaths his breathing grew even.
Last time, after he fell asleep, I waited a long while before daring to move. This time, I waited only about half an incense stick’s time, then slowly turned onto my side and gathered my scattered clothes over myself.
It wasn’t that I’d grown bolder. I’d figured out the pattern.
He fell asleep extremely quickly, and the Gray-Robed Maids kept watch outside the curtains. No one would come in at a time like this.
I stared at the gauze canopy overhead for a while. What were my chances of killing him right now?
The medicinal scent still lingered in the air, coming from him. After he swallowed that elixir, his whole presence changed. His skin seemed to have acquired an exceedingly faint sheen, and he felt colder than last time when I touched him.
It didn’t feel like the body temperature of a human.
I woke before dawn. Without certainty that he was sound asleep, I didn’t dare do anything. I had only one life and one chance. If I couldn’t guarantee success, I absolutely couldn’t risk it. And if he died, I wouldn’t survive either. What would be the point?
I sat up. My waist still ached, though less than last time, and there were fewer red marks on my body.
As soon as I left the inner chamber, I saw a Gray-Robed Maid kneeling in the outer room with a bronze basin and a hand towel.
There wasn’t a sound. I had no idea how long she’d been kneeling there.
A serving tray was brought in: rice porridge, pastries, and a small dish of pickled fruit.
I ate every last bite.