Page 25 of The Hopeless Romantic’s Guide to Enchantment

Now, twilight washed the courtyard below in shades of inky black, while the crescent moon dappled with flecks of silver the tips of the lotus buds, the edges of the wooden walkways over the pond, and the gnarled old gingko’s rustling canopy. A single flame hovered over the surface of the water – an illusion. Even so, the reflection of the candle flickering in a window of Gathering Lotus Court opposite enveloped Feifei in warmth. Hsiao Niang set a candle in her window every night between the dusk drum and morning bell, a habit begun when Feifei was a child, afraid of the dark.

Feifei was no longer a child; very little frightened her these days.

The third geng drum sounded across the walled city, signalling midnight. The clouds soon smothered the meagre slip of moon, rendering the darkness so complete Feifei couldn’t see her own hand in front of her face. Exactly the kind of night she loved.

Feifei slipped on her mask, hiding all but her eyes, then stole through the window to her balcony. With a single graceful leap, she landed on the ridge of the roof, next to the ceramic xiezhi sitting on its powerful haunches guarding the mansion and all within. Even if the moon had been full, anyone looking up would see only the mythical creature and its shadow. Feifei gave the xiezhi’s single horn a gentle pat and headed across the rooftops at a leisurely pace, towards the bright glow of the magistrate’s residence.

She stretched her legs, revelling in the freedom of extending them fully, of taking long strides, unrestrained by the height stays she wore during the day. Feifei wasn’t just tall for a woman; if she stood to her full height, she towered over nearly everyone in Luo’an, garnering muttered whispers and stares. Given her nighttime proclivities, it was best to avoid drawing attention to herself.

As she approached the pool of light surrounding the magistrate’s residence, Feifei kept to the shadowed side of the roofs until she was but one lane away. She crouched behind a ceramic qilin, alert to movement and sound.

A cat darted out of an alley and across the empty street, kicking up dust. A man followed, reeking of baijiu. He swayed precariously as he lurched into the street. The alley was a shortcut for those heading to the northern neighbour hoods from the nearby Le Chi Tavern. It must have only just closed, shooing its inebriated patrons from the premises like errant roosters.

Feifei scowled beneath her mask, thinking of her betrothed, Liu Xingzhou, that good-for-nothing drunkard her Hsiao Niang was so keen she marry. He too was a regular client at the Le Chi Tavern, obsessed with one of their singing girls.

Feifei couldn’t very well admit to sneaking out dressed as a man and spying on her betrothed; all she could say was she’d heard rumours. Feifei should have known her Hsiao Niang would not believe a single word and dismiss the rumours out of hand. Virtuous women did not indulge in bagua, she’d intoned.

Since Hsiao Niang wouldn’t help her, Feifei had to help herself. She stole the engagement proposal letters before they could be delivered, hid the matchmaker’s inkstones so the birth charts needed to confirm an auspicious match couldn’t be calculated. It was only when Hsiao Niang personally fetched the proposal letter from Lord Liu, then visited the matchmaker armed with paper, brushes, and inkstones, and finally hand delivered the birth chart calculations, that the betrothal was agreed and a wedding date set.

Still, Feifei did not give up. Setting termites on the wedding palanquin had forced them to cancel the first date since the whole thing had to be rebuilt. Fate smiled on her when the instruments belonging to the wedding procession musicians were accidentally sent to Anyang instead of Luo’an, and then lost on the way back. That cancelled the second agreed wedding date. They were now due to set a third. She had to figure out how to get the marriage contract annulled, once and for all. But that was a task for tomorrow.

Tonight was for her mother. She would find the profit-sharing contract naming the person responsible for her murder. It was hidden in a painting by Lord Cui. An old friend of her father’s, the retired magistrate was well known for his integrity and morality. His work was held in high esteem, and rare. Less than a dozen paintings had been gifted; she had checked almost all of them. Tonight, she sought the one in the current magistrate’s personal study.

Another two drunks stumbled into the street, holding on to each other to keep from falling while singing an old folksong about picking lotuses south of the Yangtze.

Once the folksong faded in the distance, Feifei flew across the magistrate’s roof, avoiding the Front Hall where the Imperial Guard was stationed. She dropped silently into the inner courtyard, moving stealthily through the shadows towards the study.

Slipping inside, she pulled the door closed behind her and uncapped her bamboo fire stick. The tinder inside smouldered gently; with a sharp puff of air, it sizzled into flame. Feifei held the stick aloft and catalogued the room.

The study was spacious, sparely adorned. Two gleaming scholar’s stones flanked an imposing desk piled with decrees and petitions. A large painted screen stood along the left wall, while the right was hung with paintings. She noted the meticulous arrangement of every thing on the desk – each pile neat and square, the inkstone and brush stand arranged with precision. Behind the desk the wooden shelves were filled with scrolls. She first checked the paintings, her heart sinking with each one: none were Lord Cui’s work.

She approached the shelf behind the desk to inspect the scrolls, which, compared to everything else in the room, were sloppily piled. That, and the sudden prickle at the base of her neck, made her realise she was not alone.

Feifei pretended to sift through the scrolls, slowly shifting the angle of her torch towards the deeper shadows on her left, paying attention to the slightest sound. There – in the gap between the wall and the screen: the softest inhale. In a blur of black, Feifei landed on the other side of the screen and met her own image: a masked youxia, head to toe in black – black mask, black robe tied at the waist with a black sash, black trousers, black boots.

She stared. Her reflection stared back. It was only when she noticed her doppelgänger carried not a fire stick, but a scroll, that she started and broke the spell. She couldn’t risk the possibility the stranger had Lord Cui’s work in their hands. Capping her fire stick, she plunged the room into darkness. She shot forward, arm outstretched, all focus on obtaining the scroll; the stranger bent back so far their topknot skimmed the floor, not only avoiding her blow, but sliding right under her and out of the tight space between wall and screen.

Feifei whirled and followed, her aim set on the stranger’s Wind Gate acupoint on their upper back. Before she could seal the meridian to render them unconscious, her doppelgänger turned. Her fist skimmed their chest, barely making contact.

Feifei relied on a tight vest to flatten her breasts and a special technique, mastered after years of neigong training, which used a buffer of qi energy to maintain the illusion of a man’s torso. As a result, she was highly attuned to qi. A touch was enough to know if another had the same ability. The stranger did not and had no need: he was a man. His shoulders were as broad as they appeared, solid and muscled, his centre of balance high in line with his height. While he was likely physically stronger, her superior neigong skills made her undoubtedly faster and nimbler.

Despite the gloom, Feifei easily located her doppelgänger’s location from the hush of air and the susurrus of fabric – an elegant swish, likely silk – when he moved, and his breath, even and confident.

They parried back and forth, bending, twisting, spinning, like tender willows in a storm.

He fought as if he had learned to spar with a teacher rather than bandits. Polite. Rule-abiding. Feifei knew better. When it came to life and death, the only rule was to survive. The next time he was close enough, she kneed him hard in the jade stem.

With a grunt, he flew backwards; following close, she grabbed the scroll, spin-kicked him in the back, and sent him crashing into the nearby scholar stone. The impact shifted the stone in its wooden stand. It listed towards the desk; an ominous crunching accompanied its slow topple. If it fell, the noise would be tremendous. Feifei couldn’t have the Imperial Guards rush in – if she were caught, her family would also be punished.

Shoving the scroll into her robe, she jumped over the groaning stranger and shoved with all her might against the stone, trying to shift it back into position, but to no avail. The huge rock continued its downward trajectory.

“Help me,” Feifei said in a hoarse whisper, pitching her voice low. “If this falls, the Imperial Guards will swarm the inner courtyard!”

It was too dark to see the stranger’s eyes, but she felt his glare nonetheless and imagined his lip curled in disdain beneath his mask.

“Return what you took, perhaps I’ll consider it.” His voice was deep and gravelly, with elegant diction, tone deceptively gentle. A blade sheathed in finest silk.

Feifei sneered at his over-confidence. “Fine, have it your way.” She stepped away from the stone and it listed even further with a crackle and pop of wood.