Learning to read, in itself, was not particularly complicated. Li Wu had no ambitions to sit the imperial examinations, after all — teaching him through the Thousand Character Classic and then a copy of the Three Character Classic or the Analects would be more than sufficient.

The complicated part was Li Wu himself. He was nothing like the well-behaved students Shen Zhuxi knew — he questioned her teaching.

After she had read through the Thousand Character Classic once, Li Wu spoke up: “Why isn’t the character for ‘wu’ in here?”

“The Thousand Character Classic simply does not contain it.”

“It calls itself the Thousand Character Classic and it can’t even fit in ‘wu’?” Li Wu said.

“…We’ll learn that character separately. Finish the Thousand Character Classic first.”

“We learn ‘wu’ first, then the Thousand Character Classic.”

Shen Zhuxi had never in her life encountered a student who assigned tasks to his own teacher.

She did not bother arguing with Li Wu over it, and wrote the character for “wu” in the sand.

“This is ‘wu.'”

Li Wu picked up his branch and, imitating her character, drew a roughly similar one beside it.

“The stroke order is wrong — the downward left stroke comes before the horizontal,” Shen Zhuxi said.

Li Wu immediately asked: “Why must the downward left stroke come first?”

Shen Zhuxi paused. “That is simply how strokes are ordered — everyone writes it that way.”

“And because everyone writes it that way, I must too?” Li Wu said. “Is there no reason it absolutely has to be done this way?”

Shen Zhuxi had no answer. The writing masters in the imperial schoolroom had never explained the reasons behind stroke order, and no one had ever asked such a question — who would even think to ask?

Li Wu would, it turned out. He not only asked, but followed the question with a scornful remark:

“If there’s no reason, then why must one follow other people’s rules?”

Shen Zhuxi did not know either!

And that might have been the end of it — except that he also gave her a sideways look and said, “…You’re only half-taught yourself.”

“You’re the one asking impossible questions!” Shen Zhuxi said. “I’m the teacher; you learn what I say. Who told you to overthink everything!”

“I’m asking impossible questions, am I? Fine, fine.” Li Wu said in a tone of mock resignation: “Go on, then.”

The lesson after that proceeded well enough. Li Wu learned quickly, though he had a habit of asking questions she had never thought to consider. If he could only close that infuriating mouth of his, he might actually make quite a decent student.

Without noticing, the whole morning slipped by. Shen Zhuxi knew there was no midday meal here, and yet she could not help but let her mind wander, her eyes drifting toward Li Wu.

They were at home today, not out somewhere — perhaps, maybe, Li Wu might just head to the kitchen when the time came to put something together?

Li Wu was a peculiar man. He had clearly noticed her frequent glances, and yet said nothing at all about it — instead he wrote in the dirt with increasing enthusiasm. Looking at him sitting up straight, full of self-important energy, occasionally pushing a strand of hair aside — someone who did not know better might have thought he was composing some great literary masterpiece.

Shen Zhuxi could hold out no longer. She was just about to suggest they rest a while and perhaps have something to eat when a deliberately gentle knock sounded at the wicket gate.

The furrow between Li Wu’s brows appeared at once.

“Brother Li, are you home?” A woman’s coaxing, soft voice came from outside.

Shen Zhuxi watched him. He did not move. There was not the slightest inclination on his part to get up and open the gate.

The knocking came again. The woman continued:

“I heard you hadn’t come to the town to buy wine these past few days. I’ve specially brought you a jug of the good stuff, and some of the dishes you like best with it. Are you home?”

Shen Zhuxi asked, “You’re not going to open the gate?”

He bent over his scrawling, voice flat: “Pay no mind.”

She would have quite liked to go open the gate herself to see who was calling — but Li Wu was the master of this house, and since he said to pay no mind, Shen Zhuxi had no standing to interfere.

After a moment, a half-sighing, half-lamenting sound came from beyond the gate, and the woman said softly, “I’ll be going then. If you don’t feel like cooking, come find me in town — I’ll always have warm wine and good food waiting for you.”

No more knocking followed. The visitor seemed to have gone.

It was at this point that Shen Zhuxi found herself disliking the man-high fence surrounding Li Wu’s property. Every other farmhouse had fences barely waist-high. Only his — he had enclosed his home as though it were a military stronghold, making it impossible for her to even crane her neck and catch a glimpse of who had come calling.

Shen Zhuxi’s curiosity burned fiercely — but it was cut short by a loud, insistent growl from her stomach.

Li Wu looked up. Their eyes met across the yard, and for a moment neither spoke.

After a while, he said: “Was that your stomach?”

The sound had rung out across the entire small yard, and Shen Zhuxi was profoundly mortified. Her face went hot at once, and she said with stubborn dignity, “That was clearly your stomach. Don’t go pinning it on me.”

“Stubborn as a stuck duck.”

Li Wu tossed his branch aside, got to his feet, and headed toward the kitchen. The moment Shen Zhuxi saw that, she knew he was going to make food, and she scurried after him.

Li Wu went into the kitchen, stoked the fire, boiled the water, put the noodles on. Shen Zhuxi’s heart sank the moment she saw it, and the words were out before she could stop herself: “Noodles again?”

He glanced at her. “Out in a village in the middle of nowhere — what did you expect?”

Shen Zhuxi certainly could not say she was thinking of braised venison tendons, bamboo-and-chicken breast, slow-cooked goose, lychee-glazed pork…

She pursed her lips and ate half a bowl of noodles without much enthusiasm.

“Weren’t you hungry?” Li Wu looked at the half she’d left behind.

“I’m full,” Shen Zhuxi said.

Li Wu said nothing, picked up her remaining half bowl, and finished it himself.

By rights, Li Wu ought to have been like the princes in the imperial schoolroom — reviewing the morning’s material immediately after the midday meal. But Li Wu was not an imperial prince. He was a street ruffian, a bully, and the moment he was done eating, he stretched out on his floor pallet in the main hall and did not stir.

Shen Zhuxi had always taken a midday rest in the palace as well, but she had never heard of a student who could nap in the middle of his lessons.

This was the first time she had encountered anyone quite as contradictory as Li Wu. He was a man of the most ordinary station, and yet nothing about how he carried himself suggested that he felt like one.

Or rather — he seemed to have no awareness whatsoever that he was supposed to feel inferior.

Shen Zhuxi, a princess, was frequently beset by feelings of inadequacy. He seemed never to lack for confidence, not even for a moment.

Thinking on all this, Shen Zhuxi dozed off on the bed. She had braced herself for a long stretch of nightmares after all that had befallen her — her Imperial Mother’s death, the Emperor Father’s violent end, the fall of the dynasty — but just as the night before, this midday nap came peacefully.

The bed was undeniably hard and worn, far from anything beautiful, and barely more comfortable than the floor — and yet somehow she always slept soundly on it.

When she woke, the sun had begun its descent. Shen Zhuxi roused the still-dead-to-the-world Li Wu, and the two of them returned to the osmanthus tree and the writing in the dirt to resume the lesson.

Li Wu settled into it more quickly than he had in the morning, and Shen Zhuxi’s pace picked up considerably. Before she knew it, they had reached the tenth line.

“This line reads: ‘Dragon and lion, fire and sovereign; bird officials and human rulers’ — the meaning of it is…”

Before she could finish, Li Wu said:

“I already know what it means.”

Shen Zhuxi looked at him in surprise. “You do?”

Li Wu wore a self-satisfied expression, his eyes dark and bright.

“The dragons and lions are furious at the current emperor. Only chaotic, scrambling birds are willing to serve such a worthless ruler.”

A surge of anger shot through Shen Zhuxi, and without thinking she cried sharply: “Nonsense!”

Li Wu was bewildered by this. After a moment, understanding caught up with him, and his expression darkened. He fixed her with a frowning stare. “I’m cursing that worthless emperor — what are you getting worked up for?”

“That is not what those words mean!”

“That’s how the storyteller explained it. Is he wrong or are you?” Li Wu said. “And even if he wasn’t right before, it’s true enough now. The man brought disaster on himself — why can’t I curse him for it?”

Shen Zhuxi was so furious she went red in the face, glaring at him with not a word she could say.

Li Wu suddenly looked suspicious. He gave her a considering look. “I curse the worthless emperor, and you fly into a rage like that — what, do you still want to go back and serve him?”

That was both humiliating and infuriating. She threw down her branch on the spot, and without waiting for Li Wu’s reaction, stormed out of the courtyard without looking back.

She only remembered that the town was to the right, and so she plunged ahead in that direction, paying no attention to whether Li Wu called after her or came chasing, her whole body burning with fury as she put on a speed she had rarely managed in her life and arrived in no time at the busy street.

Whatever small store of goodwill Li Wu had built up in her estimation was overturned again in an instant. Right now, she could only think that this man was absolutely insufferable, without a shred of manners, arrogant beyond all measure — she was never going back to that place!

The thought had barely formed before Shen Zhuxi felt a lurch in her chest.

Never mind that her earrings were still in Li Wu’s hands — her jade hairpin was at his home as well. She had not a single coin on her. Where could she go?

Shen Zhuxi paced back and forth on the street, her thoughts in chaos.

Once the pure fury had faded, another kind of feeling rose to take its place, drifting through her mind and refusing to leave, making the chaos worse.

Why did Li Wu speak of the Emperor Father that way? Why did the storyteller speak of him that way? Had the Emperor Father truly done something so terrible that heaven and men both raged against him? But she had never once heard Fu Xuanmiao or any palace attendant say a single critical word about the Emperor Father. He did not have officials beaten in the great hall, and he did not massacre palace servants indiscriminately. His only failing, as far as Shen Zhuxi could see, was that he was moody and changeable, quick to tire of what he once loved — but had that not been true of every ruler since ancient times?

She could not make sense of it, and there was no storyteller nearby to confront. Adrift, without purpose, she looked up and found that the sky had grown dark without her noticing.

If she did not go back, she would be sleeping out in the open tonight. Shen Zhuxi knew that was dangerous — but she could not bring herself to swallow her pride. She had already lost everything. Must she give up her dignity as well?

The street had nearly emptied of people. The few passersby that remained all looked at her strangely, with curiosity and confusion. Shen Zhuxi did not want to be subjected to that, and she walked further and further into the less-traveled parts of town.

Pride or life — which mattered more? If she were threatened by rebels, she would rather throw herself from a height and die with her dignity intact. But to place herself in danger over a verbal quarrel with an ordinary commoner, over something as trivial as that — was it really worth the cost?

And besides, losing her life was the lesser tragedy. If she were to meet with a villain and suffer some unspeakable fate…

A cold shudder ran through Shen Zhuxi. Her mind had not yet made itself up, but her body had already turned around of its own accord and started walking back in the direction of Li Wu’s home.

She had not yet left the narrow lane she was in when a large tawny dog appeared at the far end of it. It was all skin and bone, every rib showing, and yet it was tall — higher than Shen Zhuxi’s knee. Just as she instinctively stopped in her tracks, the great yellow dog turned its head and spotted her.

Its eyes were clouded and dull, nothing like the bright alertness of a normal dog. What mattered most was that its entire mouth hung open — glistening with wetness, thick strands of saliva dangling from sharp, jagged teeth, trailing from its jaw and hanging half in the air.

A chill crept up from the soles of Shen Zhuxi’s feet. She dared not move a muscle. Every hair on her head felt as though it were standing on end.

Mercifully, after a long, silent standoff, the great yellow dog lost interest in her and turned to lumber away.

Shen Zhuxi’s body went slack with relief — and only then did she realize that her back was soaked through with cold sweat. She did not dare to follow in the direction the dog had gone, and could only take another path, hoping to circle back to the main road from the other side.

But the sky kept growing darker and darker, and the lane seemed to have no end.

Ahead lay a turning. Shen Zhuxi thought at last she had reached the way out, and hurried forward eagerly. She stepped around the corner — and found herself facing a half-collapsed thatched shelter.

Inside the shelter, more than a dozen ragged beggars turned to look at her, all at once.