â€‹â€‹Ouralan often wished she had one of those jobs that had lunch breaks. In fact, selling wares was never something she particularly enjoyed doing. It came with weaving, however; the cloth and dresses had to be disposed of somehow, and had to generate income. None of the weavers enjoyed being cashiers; it held none of the creativity and skill that actual weaving, embroidering, knitting, or crocheting required, but they had to adopt the task when it was their turn. Ouralan had to manage the shop every third day of the week.

            When it was not her turn to run the shop, Ouralan could lounge about all morning if she wanted to and do most of her work in the afternoon and evening, as long as she completed a decent amount of work. However, in the store, people had a tendency to decide to purchase things during lunch hours, rain or shine, cold or hot, and Ouralan had to be ready at the counter to answer questions or take orders or accommodate pickups. It was a chore, even if customers were generally pleasant and polite.

            Today the shop had been incredibly hectic all morning. Ouralan’s throat was parched from talking, and she had not had a chance to sit down since she started. Finally, a couple of hours after noon, business trickled down and she was able to rest at the counter while watching patrons rummage through the aisles. Her legs were sore and her back ached. She really wanted a nap.

            “Long day?” one buyer grinned at her, an elderly woman with silver hair and a smile that involved her entire face. She pointed at the sign that listed the store schedule. “Still a few hours to go, my girl.”

            “Not if I tamper with that clock!” she laughed. “What can I do for you?”

            The other woman chuckled. “You take care of yourself now,” she said in a kind voice, “just because you are young does not mean you are actually invincible. Life is not a race. You do not win by finishing first.”

            Very true! Ouralan decided she liked this old grandma. “Easier said than done though, with the way people push. Would that I have your fine perspective, madam, so that I might finish last.”

            “Ho! But didn’t I just share it with you?” she winked, before presenting the cloth that she wanted. “You girls always switch, I can’t keep track of all of you. Who was the girl that was minding the shop yesterday?”

            “Reyne,” Ouralan grinned. “She has a delicate hand. Those there: her work. She might be the best weaver of all of us, the lucky fiend.” They always left the best materials for her to work with, so Reyne’s cloth was always more expensive than the rest of the wares.

            “I would not sell yourself short,” said the old lady. “This one is your handiwork, I would think. It suits your demeanor.”

            Lo and behold, the woman was right. Ouralan tended to like bold colors. She would weave patterns that looked like a crowd of confused tigers, or sew designs of little fat men with flutes and young toddlers catching butterflies while making various faces. Reyne would always be more elegant than Ouralan, so Ouralan never even tried, instead opting for whatever suited her humor at the time.

            She looked up at the woman with a sideways glance. “What are you talking about? I tell you, I am the most well-behaved out of all of us.”

            “Hm…we shall see,” the woman cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “Well, I am buying in any case. This one, I want a length of…hm…”

            Ouralan sat down as soon as she finished measuring, cutting, and bagging the cloth. Her stomach growled. One of the patrons was carrying some fried bread, and while she was seeing to the old grandma, the smell had permeated the entire store. Ouralan brought out her own lunch, and ate as the customers continued to browse, on the lookout for anyone who would come to the register, but she finished it before feeling sated.

            Today is a day to buy snacks. Ouralan often made mental notes to bring some with her from home, but she never followed through with it for some reason. Maybe because she always knew she had the option of buying from the streets.

            When the store started to empty, she stepped out to consider her options. The marketplace was open enough that though there were people, it was not too crowded. She could see all the way to one end of the street, where a cart was selling skewers. Shops of all kinds lined the blocks, and in front were the street vendors, selling everything from pastries to porcelain to cheap toys. Between the stands were trees, small in size and sporting leaves in a myriad of purple, red, gold, and copper hues. They showered the sidewalks in vivid carpets. Mules pulled wagons past, compelling the pedestrians to move out of the way, and the occasional town guard rode on horseback while foot soldiers followed in procession.

            “Hey! Hey hey hey!” someone yelled, and Ouralan turned her head to look. A bull-faced vendor was waving his spatula at a scrawny ragamuffin.

            Thwack! Came the metal, right on the side of the child’s face, and Ouralan reared back as if she had been struck herself. It knocked the boy flat on the ground, the bread in his hand flying out to the dirt.

            “You brats!” yelled the man. “Good-for-nothing thieves! Get on with you, get on, go!”

            The child scrambled to his feet and dashed for his life, his cheek already turning bright red. He streaked past while Ouralan was still trying to comprehend what just happened.

            One of the other vendors, a stocky fellow with a gray beard, muttered something to the first with a wince. He had no patience for lectures though.

            “Right, and I have five kids at home to feed, a wife who’s sick and has to manage all of them. We all have problems, man. If your business is doing so well, you can buy a few crumbs for the rat.”

            “Hey, no one said anything about giving stuff; but was the spatula really necessary? That thing is hot.”

            “These little miscreants are smart; you try being gentle, they take that as an excuse to come back for more just when your back is turned…”

            Ouralan knew the man, or at least came across him many times. He was always friendly towards her, probably because she was a pretty girl who happened to have some money. They never had lengthy conversations, certainly not enough to know whether he had troubles at home.

            Everyone had limited resources. Ouralan herself was not rich; she was not impoverished, and could afford the basic necessities of life and then some, but every day was a battle to stay aloft, above the threshold of desperation. Like most, she had no means to be too generous. She was probably destined to live all her life fighting her own poverty, let alone someone else’s.

            “…if I could afford it I would…brat had it coming,” the man grumbled. Ouralan went to him, feeling compelled to hear more from him, understand what she had just seen. She would have looked for the ragamuffin, but the child was nowhere to be seen. “Hi there, young mistress. What can I get you?”

            “Hello.” She hesitated, noting that he was upset enough himself that he did not quite snap to the genial mode of a seller yet. Eventually, she pointed at what she wanted, before inquiring, “Is your wife alright?”

            The vendor shrugged, trying to appear careless. He took her money. “No. Healer has this formula, said it could cure her, but it would take me thirty lifetimes to earn the price. What can you do? Life sucks.”

            “So what are you going to do?”

            He shrugged again, picking up his spatula. It was too tight, too furious, and made Ouralan consider that perhaps the vendor was a little remorseful of how he treated the ragamuffin, however much he tried to deny it.

            “How much longer can Sisiril hold out?” asked the neighboring vendor.

            “I don’t know.” He glared at the frying pan as he dumped the dough.

            “Hey,” Ouralan called softly, “we’ll try to think of something, alright?”

            He managed a genuine smile for her. “I appreciate it, young mistress. Go enjoy; you’re as skinny as a twig!”

            “You’re a twig,” Ouralan huffed, inspiring a round of laughs. She took a few precious minutes to search for the ragamuffin, looking behind alleys and bins, but could not find him at all. Finally, when she could not stay away from her shop any longer, she gave up. There were patrons in there already.

            The fried bread was greasy and delicious for her hunger. She stared at the streets from her counter while she chewed, looking for signs of the boy. On occasion, she stepped outside the door on the pretense of obtaining fresh air, but even then she saw nothing. It was as if the boy had disappeared into thin air.

            Finally, orders, and she had to set aside her meal. Payments, bagging, bidding good day. At the next break she took a few more bites of her bread, wondering if she should chance heading out to look for the boy again. The chimes jingled as the door opened and she turned her attention to the new patron.

            He seemed well-off; quality clothes that were straight and neat. Tall and slender, unlike the bulky workers around here, and though his skin was dark, it had that smooth quality of someone rarely in the sun.

            The sight of him had her wondering—men rarely had reason to come to a textile shop, especially not alone. This was a man who appeared to be able to afford having others do menial tasks for him. Would he want to make a purchase?

            “Good day,” he called out.

            Her mouth was full, so she nodded at him and raised her fried bread in acknowledgment. He turned away then, leaving her pondering in silence.

            Oh well. Stranger things have happened. Running the shop tended to be both tedious and monotonous, but on occasion there would be a sight, like the man who was so drunk that he crashed into the window and fell asleep there, only to be found by Risha the next morning, or that one lunatic who thought that the shop sold magic carpets and insisted that they were hiding it in their basement. That had not been an enjoyable episode.

            The man looked at the rolls, the patterns and the embroidered laces. He appeared thoroughly at a loss, enough that eventually Ouralan felt compelled to leave the counter and approach him.

            “Do you need any help?”

            “No, not at the moment. Just looking.”

            He was very unconvincing, but Ouralan had learned over the years that this was usually a polite way for customers to ask to be left alone. “Well, you let me know if you need anything.”

            “Did you make some of these?”

            A bit thrown, Ouralan replied, “…Yes. Some.”

            “Which ones?”

            She had been a bit proud and delighted when the grandma presented her work, but in front of this young man, she found herself feeling reluctant and abashed. She wished she had tried to make something similar to what Reyne often made—something elegant, refined, graceful, instead of comical, odd, eccentric. Frogs sipping wine, deer eating children’s pants, old ladies dressed as dolls. Nothing he would want, she was sure.

            “Really?” He stared at her work, “You made these?” He was especially interested in the one with the deer.

            “This never happened to you?”

            He burst out laughing and gave her a peculiar glance that Ouralan did not know how to interpret. “No, but did this happen to you?”

            “Of course not. I was always a good girl.”

            “I’m sure.” He looked at them again, grinning. “I actually think my sister would enjoy these. Would it be alright if I take home samples this time and come back later?”

            “Of course.”

            She went to the counter for a scissor. The man followed her halfway, and walked back with her.

            “What is your name?”

            “Ouralan Ri. Yours?”

            “Aoti Long. Are you here everyday?”

            “No, thank goodness. I’m not built for this sort of work.”

            “What are you built for then?”

            She lifted one of the fabrics featuring birds wearing hats. “This is much more fun.”

            He raised his eyebrows. “I can see that.”

            He fell silent for a while as she cut pieces for him to take.

            “When will you be here again?”

            “Next week, same day, but you can come back anytime. We all work together, and we sell each other’s wares,” She pointed at Reyne’s work, “She’s our star, if you’re interested.”

            Long was not, for his eyes never left her. “Next week, same day?”

            Ouralan smiled, nervous now. She wondered if she just told him more than she should.

            “See you next week then, Miss Ri.”

            He inclined his head, before turning to leave. Ouralan drifted back to her counter, where other patrons were waiting.

            That was kind of odd.

            She shrugged. At least this fellow did not demand an invisibility cloak.

2: Cuddling Lambs

            “The issue with Ouralan,” said Reyne, “is that her cloth can only be purchased for people of nine years or younger.”

            The two days after shop day were sewing days. Reyne was embroidering peonies and tea flowers onto her light pink cloth. Ouralan was experimenting with embossing and trying to figure out how to make her sheep fluffier. So far, the edges looked too polished to be woolly. Maybe this is just not the right style for it.

            “Still a valuable audience,”said Zitan, who was supposed to be weaving today, but had produced enough cloth last time that she was content to sew again. “Hers sells well. Old ladies are always buying her wares for their grandchildren.”

            “Reyne, you take the crown with your particular style,” Ouralan paused her needle to salute, “I am not even going to try. We’ll all carve our niches and live with their limitations.”

            “It wouldn’t hurt for you to use some of the gold thread once in a while,” Reyne rolled her eyes. She was more elegant than her work, with a gracile jaw and fine eyes. Ouralan often mused that someone like Reyne should have been born a princess, or at least some kind of noble lady. As it was, Reyne was probably close enough; she came from a merchant’s household, and was the only member of their group who could afford to leave the shop and her career. The fact that she was still a motivated weaver said a great deal about her.

            “Maybe one day, when I run out of funny things to put on my fabrics.”

            “Where do you come up with all of them anyway?” Zitan teased. “What is going on in that head of yours?”

            “You should ask Reyne what is going on in her head.”

            “Oh please, like I will ever be as strange as Ouralan.”

            Hm, Ouralan peered at her sheep, with its large doe-like eyes. Fluffy.

            “By the way, I am taking off tomorrow,” Reyne switched, “I have some errands to run, so you will not be seeing me at the looms.”

            “Given how busy it was yesterday,” Ouralan replied, “this is not much of a setback. What errands?”

            “Personal, long, and complicated.”

            Zitan and Ouralan allowed her to leave it at that. “Will you be back the day after?”

            “I don’t see why not.”

            “We shall miss your company,” Ouralan smirked. “We won’t be around to keep an eye on you, so behave yourself out there.”

            “Oh pah, you are incorrigible,” Reyne glared.

            Ouralan grinned.

            Reyne actually ended up leaving that afternoon, while Zitan, finished with her sewing, went to the looms. Ouralan stayed by herself, making her lamb collection and musing as she worked. She thought of the vendor who sold fried bread, his wife who was sick, and the young boy Ouralan never found.

            She had looked for him after closing the shop, late at night when the streets were illuminated by dim torches. It was hard to see, for every shadow moved with her, and she had not been expecting to find the boy. After a while, it was far too late for someone like her to be out and about by herself. They were all poor folk in their own ways, but she had more to lose.

            It is hard to be generous, Ouralan mused. There was always a sacrifice to be made. Money. Time. Life. They end up being cruel because their own fortunes were cruel. If they all had more money—

            Like that young man. What was his name? Long?

            She considered, long and hard. She did not know his character. Asking him for favors was too risky. For some reason, people who could most afford to be generous were also the most selective. There was a reason they were wealthy, after all.

            But maybe there was a way to get him involved. Some kind of business arrangement. One that would be less of a favor, and more of a happy coincidence. She could get Reyne involved; Reyne’s work always sold for hefty prices. Ouralan could increase the prices of all of the textiles, at least temporarily…

            But would people buy? The problem was the marginal revenue, not the profit per purchase.

            I hate business. She set aside her needle to appraise her work. She was going to have to think a little more; for now, she had her own career to protect.

~

            The next morning was still sewing day for Ouralan. Nanli joined her, having minded the shop the previous day. Ouralan asked her if she ever saw the boy.

            “No,” Nanli shook her head. “I had enough to worry about in the shop itself. I never pay attention to what goes on outside.”

            “Was it that busy yesterday?”

            “Not really.”

            Ouralan peered at her. “Any time to step out for some fresh air?”

            Nanli made a face. “Why would I do that?”

            She shrugged. “I headed out when I was minding the shop. Was starving. You know that vendor that sold fried bread on the street?”

            “No. I never look at them.”

            “His wife is sick. Healer has a cure, but he can’t afford it.”

            “Story of our lives.”

            Ouralan paused. “You think we should help?”

            “What, pay her medicine when he was supposed to?”

            “Well, at least give a little bit of help. And I’m not saying that we actually pay, but surely there must be something we can do.”

            Nanli waved her free hand. “None of our business. I mean, it takes enough to keep our own business aloft. If he can’t figure out how to take care of his own family, oh well, it’s sad, but if we get involved with him, what about all the other pathetic folks out there who also have their own sob story?”

            She’s right. Ouralan looked down. Maybe she was paying too much attention to this. These were troubles other people had to solve themselves. Ouralan did not have the resources to help everyone.

            But I’m not sick, I have no family to worry about. It was not like Ouralan had too many problems of her own and could not deal with any more. She was not financially well-off, but in terms of expenditures, she had no outrageous expenses. She paid for her room and board, her food and her wardrobe, and every month she sent a portion of her wages to her old headmistress, in return for having raised and taught her. Still, if she tightened her budget and saved a little, even with the monthly payments, she could have some left over. These were all routine, nothing unexpected or drastic. Unlike some others, Ouralan could afford to give a little.

            Just not enough.

            Nanli, all business, said nothing more for the rest of the day. Ouralan, restless, abandoned her project before noon and packed her things to go home. The day was cloudy, and there was a touch of water about the air that hinted at a coming storm. Leaving early was likely a wise decision. She could do some of her work in her own rooms, since sewing did not require large machinery. Maybe a change of scenery would help settle her mind.

            She progressed about halfway in the direction of home before she changed her mind and headed toward the shop.

            Maybe you are sick, She thought to herself. This isn’t any of your business, and here you are, pondering, pondering, dwelling on it even at the expense of your own duties. What kind of idiot worried about other people’s problems? She should be glad to be free of her own.

            But it bothered her, even if she could not place why. The whole situation. Maybe it was because someone’s life at home had gotten so desperate that it could bleed into his work, such that a pleasant man could turn into a child-beating monster. Ouralan did not know her parents, knew of no siblings, and had no husband or children, but how easily she might have descended to the same state if a loved one were in turmoil.

            She could easily fall sick herself. Like the old grandma had said, she was young but not invincible. If Ouralan fell ill…there would be no one there for her at all. How dearly she would depend on the help of others, just as this vendor did.

            You have lost your mind. She shook her head. You should just forget about it. Why worry over things beyond your control?

            “Miss Ri,”

            She raised her head.

            “I thought you would not be back until next week.” Long looked at her with a mix of surprise and pleasure. Flanking him were several other young men, all dressed in the same elegant apparel. They appeared to be out for some kind of social gathering.

            She then took stock of her surroundings. Stores lined the streets, and she was beside a flower shop. She was not yet near her own, though she was clearly heading in that direction.

            “Next week is when I am not allowed to take naps,” she smiled.

            Long grinned as well. “And today you are?”

            She shrugged. “Among other things.”

            “Had I known I would run into you, I would have pushed my sister, but she had a headache yesterday,” Long ducked his head, “though I suppose today you are not going to the store.

            “No. It’s fine, take your time.” She fell silent then. Other than business transactions, she had little to say to the likes of Long. Besides textiles, she knew nothing else. Anything she could think of would seem boring to him.

            “Hey,” one of the young men tapped Long on the shoulder, “are you done? Mind introducing us to the lady already?”

            Long huffed. “Gentlemen, this is Ouralan Ri. She runs the textile store down that block. This idiot here is Yemli Yu, and those are Darimin Sen and Kehe Min.”

            Yu greeted her cheerfully. “Delighted! You run the textile store? You’re the one with the—“

            “Oh, she is?” Sen hopped forward. “This fellow here was showing us yesterday—“

            “Are you headed there now?” Yu shoved Sen back.

            Ouralan wavered. “Not exactly. I was simply…”

            “Ah, just going for a stroll then. You would not happen to have the time to join us, would you? We are headed to the Joyous Winehouse down there.”

            “Have you ever been there?” Long asked.

            No, Ouralan had never been to a winehouse. Surely they were not going to—

            “Come along,” said Sen, “it would be fun. Besides, it is raining.”

            Ouralan looked up and held out her hand. She felt a drop land.

            “Well that’s it.” Long somehow came behind her and gently herded her along without touching her. “A nice relaxing lunch while it is raining outside. There we go.”

            Before Ouralan could come up with a excuse not to join them, she was already moving with him, and then it felt too late to protest.

            “Where did you come from, Miss Ri?” Min asked.

            “…” Ouralan was not sure how to answer that at first. She never did before; she did not know where she was born, where she had lived in the early years of her life. She was aware of changing homes numerous times, different faces bending over her, sleeping in different rooms with different windows showing different trees. When at last she found her way to the weavers, she had been eight years old.

            She could give her hometown, perhaps. “Denan.” It was close enough.

            “Denan. Where is that?”

            She tilted her head back and forth. “East, I think…hard to say. I am bad with directions. It is a small place though.”

            “I’m bad with directions too. Hey,” Min smacked Sen on the arm, “you heard of Denan before?”

            “No. Say Miss Ri, have you any brothers or sisters?”

            “…” As far as she was concerned, “No.”

            “You sound hesitant,” Long observed.

            Ouralan thought quickly. “Well, I often consider my fellow weavers to be sisters, so I needed to redefine the word in my head.”

            “Strange to see a young woman out and about on her own. Are your parents in town?”

            “…”

            Long bent a little so his head was level with hers. “Had to redefine that word too?”

            Ouralan blushed. “Are your parents in town then?”

            This inspired a round of laughter from the men.

            “I suppose that is a little too far,” Long allowed. “But what questions does one start with, when getting to know another?”

            “That depends, I think, on why you want to know the other.”

            “This girl I like,” Yu announced to Min, “this girl I like. You run the textile shop? I’m making a note of that.”

            “Hey!” Long exclaimed. “What are you talking about?”

            “He found her first, lay off,” Sen remonstrated.

            Feeling uncomfortable, Ouralan started drawing back. She had the sense that she was some kind of item being tossed around by rich men. It made her wonder how she got into this mess.

            “Stop,” Long suddenly snapped, and jerked his head in her direction. The other men fell silent.

            Then the rain started falling harder.

            “Oh dear,” Long glanced at Ouralan, before lifting his cloak. “Come, let’s get to the winehouse before we’re drenched.”

            The cloak was over her, and his arm hovered just shy of touching her shoulders at first, but then he gently pulled her close before they moved forward, with him wrapping to her side in an odd embrace.

3: The Lunch

            The winehouse was warm and filled with the smell of hot food. Ouralan had previously only seen the interior through the windows. It was another feeling to be within the place, the wooden floors and the tables covered with tablecloth, dishes and bowls steaming.

            She felt a little like a captive, despite the lack of threats or chains. There was always someone behind her, as if the men were herding her to their den. It might not have been so bad if there were another woman among the company, but she was the only one and had no one to gravitate to. She felt lonely and unsettled, among strangers, in an unfamiliar environment.

            Also, how am I supposed to pay for lunch?

            “Tea!” Yu called to the waiter, “Mister Long, this one is on you, by the way.”

            “Naturally,” Long drawled.

            “Ah, this is good,” Sen exclaimed as Yu and Min each took their seats. Ouralan hesitated, but eventually sat when she saw Long waiting for her. She had somehow ended up with the best seat, by the window. “I wish every day were like today. Whoever invented paperwork should die.”

            “No talk of paperwork,” Min protested. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t even want to think about it.”

            “We should do this more often,” Sen chuckled. “Random trips to the world outside of books and writing.”

            “I know! We really should. Why don’t we do this more often?”

            “Because the two of you are lazy,” Long sipped his tea, “and prefer lounging around at home as opposed to coming out to meet the rest of us.”

            “Not true. I do come out.”

            “Late at night, at some ridiculous hour when other people should be asleep. No wonder you don’t come out during the day.”

            “Nights are such exciting times though!”

            Long pointed at the Min and Sen. “These two are night owls. They got up probably an hour or so ago. I don’t understand how your household puts up with that.”

            “Hazards of a genius.”

            “Have to deal with the whole package.”

            “Genius, eh?” Long cocked an eyebrow. “Genius couldn’t do simple math, presented the accounting—“

            “Hey!”

            “No talk of work, man!”

            “Fine.” Long leaned back in his chair. “We’ll talk about the Bamboo Fairy, then.”

            Yu groaned. “Oh come on.”

            Ouralan, interested despite herself, asked, “Bamboo Fairy?”

            “Do you know who she is, Miss Ri?”

            “No. I’ve never even heard of her.”

            “Dancer from the west,” Sen supplied, “trademark was her bamboo dance, hence ‘Bamboo Fairy’. She’s coming to town next week to visit our dear Lord Yu.”

            Lord Yu. Ouralan could feel the blood drain from her face. Yu was the Yu. And she was sitting next to him. How did I even get here?

            “Actually she’s here for my mother,” Yu corrected. “She was the one who wanted to watch the bamboo dance.”

            “Either way, Lord Yu, Lady Yu, they’re practically one person.”

            This made Yu grin, pleased.

            “You can come next week right?” Long asked Ouralan, “Take the evening off.”

            “Wh…” Ouralan blinked, grasping blindly. Don’t these sort of things cost money?

            “You should. The Bamboo Fairy does not perform for just any audience”—Min waved at the waiter—“I think we should start picking what we want.”

            “I guess…”

            “It’s the same evening as the day you are minding the shop,” Long went on. “You can come once you are done at the store.”

            Rattled, Ouralan could not quite summon the will to speak or nod.

            The waiter had arrived, and Min started listing all the dishes that they were to have. Long kept staring at Ouralan, who started off trying to ignore him. After a moment, however, she wondered why she was avoiding his gaze when he was the one being inappropriate. She stared blankly in his direction.

            Long dropped his gaze as the waiter withdrew.

            Ouralan looked away. I think I’m in trouble.

            What frightened her the most was that Aoti Long was handsome. It would be easy to feel attracted to him, to believe that behind his superficial interest was something deeper, more profound, the beginnings of a dream. It was a nice fantasy, this idea that a man can meet a girl and look past her wealth and status, but it was probably nice because it was rare. If every man were so noble, there would be no poor girls.

            Ouralan herself had long been disillusioned. Back when she was twelve, one of the older weaver girls, Zihe, had an affair with the governor’s son. Ouralan had watched from the beginning when Zihe was sewing handkerchiefs for him and knitting gloves, and the man would materialize, tall, sharp, and strong. A kiss here, a peck there, and he would laugh as Zihe blushed and lowered her eyes. The other girls thought this was adorable, but the headmistress had been furious. Who do you think you are? What do you think you look like to him? You are nothing more than a toy!

            Zihe did not believe it, and none of them did either, not only because the youth seemed genuine in his ardor, but also because there had been much to love about Zihe. Ouralan never knew her well; she was a good five years older than Ouralan had been at the time, but she was one of the most skilled among the apprentices, and in person was sweet and soft-spoken, beautiful to look at, with skin as smooth as porcelain and eyes like a gentle lamb. When she sat at a bench she looked akin to fairies in paintings, and on the rare occasion she could put up her hair and dress in new clothes for the spring festival, she was not inferior to the glittering princesses that sparkled in their palaces.

            Ultimately, though, it was a game, and as soon as he arrived at the finish line, she was disposed of, like her soiled handkerchiefs and ruined gloves. Everyone called her an idiot who went looking for trouble and blamed her for being foolish enough to hope, while he carried away with him a nobleman’s daughter who was already living the dream that was too stupid for Zihe to have. Pursuing a commoner in place of a noblewoman was never in the best interests of a lord, and when he was already determined not to value his targets, it was a lost cause from the start. It turned out there were a lot of sweet girls, a lot of pretty girls, and a lot of sweet girls who were also pretty, and to the young brash men of wealth who could have anything they wanted, no single woman was so special just on those grounds. The ones worth chasing were the ones on the run; once caught, they added to the pile, and men turned their eyes to new game.

            Zihe had hung herself days before the wedding. Ouralan had heard from one of the other weavers that she might have been with child. Her former suitor did not seem to care very much, and Ouralan had spent days contemplating why it felt like a part of her had died as well. Maybe it was because she realized the world was not as beautiful as she had thought, that love carried with it this sordid stain of exploitation and degradation. Like gambling, it whispered of an opportunity to be above the world, but it made no promises while demanding full investment of everything, and more often ended with complete, total loss.

            No, she did not like Aoti Long. He had no reason to like her, no reason to single her out and woo her, fuel hopes too foolish to be entertained. She was not old, but Ouralan no longer focused on the best outcomes anymore. Only the most likely. Long had shown up at her shop for no reason. They had never spoken before, had never even seen each other before. Ouralan did not present particularly touching pieces at the shop, and even if her fabrics were as good as Reyne’s, she doubted a piece of cloth would inspire him to take extra notice of her.

            There was something else going on.

            After musing for a while, however, her thoughts took a different turn. Their antics were serving to calm her. Since she was here, she might as well make use of it. If everything was being paid for by Long, then she would enjoy herself.

            “Miss Ri is a quiet sort,” Yu observed. “You are not shy around us, surely.”

            “I was always told that men like quiet women,” she returned, “so they can hear themselves think.”

            “Well right now all I hear is Min talking, and I am quite tired of that.”

            “Hey!”

            “You are enjoying yourself?” Long asked. “I know we pulled you from your day rather unexpectedly.”

            “Good food and good company,” Ouralan laughed, “what’s not to enjoy?”

            “Well said!”

            Min was still indignant. “You were the one who was asking about my brother.”

            “All I asked was whether he was doing well. I did not need you to launch into every patient case he’s had.”

            “You’re a bore. That’s what it is. Those cases are interesting.”

            “Thinking about following in his footsteps?”

            “Of course not. Medicine is not the life for me. Being among sick people, I should be glad not to get sick myself. Every winter and spring he comes home with the same illnesses as his patients. I want none of that.”

            “Instead, he wants to go into politics, where he will be sick year-round up here,” Sen tapped his temple, which earned him a shove from Min.

            Long sighed. “You two are idiots. Why am I friends with you?”

            “Oh please. You love us.”

            Long rolled his eyes.

            The food was delicious, and Ouralan could not help but take another bite. Sen and Min bickered a little more, and she found herself feeling amused despite herself.

            “How long have you all known each other?” she asked.

            “Lord Yu and Mister Sen probably know each other longest of us,” Said Min, “how old were you? Five?”

            “Just about.”

            “I think I was just shy of turning seven,” said Yu.

            “And—“

            “I met them last,” Long interrupted, and went on before Ouralan could wonder at it, “About…five years ago? These idiots were trying to play a prank on a poor manservant.”

            “…Right…” For some reason, Min looked a little embarrassed.

            “Well it brought us together,” Yu raised his cup, “all four of us, and we have never separated since. Except the times in between when we met. But our hearts are always together.”

            Perplexed, Ouralan looked at Long for clarification.

            “We don’t meet often,” he explained, “just here and there on special occasions. We all come from different towns. It is rare for any two of us to be in one town, let alone all four.”

            If anything, this confused Ouralan more; she was under the impression that these four friends lived close together. She chose not to press further, though.

            “Today must be a special day for all of you, then.” She had no idea she was intruding on such an occasion.

            “One of several days. We’ll all be here for a while. Past the Bamboo Fairy, even.”

            “No need to feel bad,” Long clarified. “We were the ones who invited you.”

            He was right, so Ouralan relaxed. “Where do you all come from, then?”

            Long answered quickly. “Lord Yu is a local, obviously. Sen and Min are from the north. I hail from the capital.”

            He must be important. She was eating lunch with four lords. Never in her wildest dreams… “You’ve all traveled far, then. Was it all to watch the Bamboo Fairy?”

            “Not exactly,” Min laughed. “Business matters. Which we are not to talk about!”

            “Tell us about yourself,” Sen urged, “anyone who could weave that deer pattern“—The others snickered—“ought to have had an interesting life.”

            Ouralan was not sure whether he was being condescending, but she played along because at least he was not nasty. “Not so much an interesting life, I think. My life is rather boring. I studied weaving for most of my life, and then moved here to join the other weavers in running the shop. As for where my ideas come from, I’m not sure. My style is more one of necessity; my colleague, Reyne, has better aesthetic taste, and her fabric has won competitions in the past. If I were to try to emulate her style, I should be quite useless to the shop, so I chose to do something different. She was just telling me yesterday that the only people my fabric is suited for is for those under nine years of age.”

            “What! Outrageous!” Yu exclaimed. “I was just telling old Long here that I want a set of robes with that deer pattern.”

            “Well, Liqia always did say you have the mind of a four-year-old.”

            “Who cares what she says? Miss Ri’s cloth is for those who are young in spirit. Who needs more boring ‘elegance’ with the curlicues and the what—I say, if there were more women with your sense of humor, the world would be a better place.”

            He was clearly saying that in the heat of the moment, but Ouralan felt touched all the same. “Lord Yu is very kind.”

            “And if you,” Yu turned to Long, “bring her to the—“

            “Shh!” Long batted him off. “These sort of things I have no say in. You want me to get yelled at?”

            Thrown, Ouralan stiffened as the men bickered again about someone boxing Long’s ears. She was becoming very confused.

            They spent the remainder of the lunch trying to figure out Ouralan’s background, but Ouralan was not keen on sharing that she was an orphan. That knowledge tended to inspire pity and mockery, sometimes at the same time. Orphans were so much easier to take advantage of; they want love that was denied to them, and yet they see it everywhere around them, in the eyes and faces and gestures of those who still had parents that treasured them. Better to stay silent on the matter. For all she knew, after next week, she would never see this lot again.

            They stayed in the winehouse for a long time, so that by the time they left, it was the middle of the afternoon. The rain had ceased, though the air remained damp and the ground was littered with puddles.

            “Do you need help getting home?” Long asked, looking at the streets and then at her.

            Ouralan shook her head. “I should be fine. I am no stranger to rain or its aftermath.” She bowed to him. “Thank you for including me today, and introducing me to your friends.”

            “My pleasure. Well, get home safely, and I’ll see you next week? And then at the dance.”

            Oh right, the dance. “I look forward to seeing you.” She bowed again. She was; he might actually buy something next week.

            “Goodbye now!” Yu called. “See you at the dance!”

            She bowed, feeling awkward, and turned without giving a verbal reply.

4: A Week Later

            After leaving the noblemen, Ouralan’s mind wandered to the vendor and his sick wife. She was aware that she probably missed a great opportunity to help them, but then the opportunity did not seem like much of one; Ouralan herself had been so lost and confused, and she barely even knew any of the men, amiable as they were. Plus, given how suspect Long’s motives were, he might use this as a way to force her to giving him what he wanted, and Ouralan had seen what that could do to a woman.

            She went to the looms in the days afterwards and mentioned the vendor to Zitan and Reyne. Neither was particularly impressed.

            “Why are you this concerned about someone else’s problem?” Reyne asked. “Don’t you have enough of your own?”

            Ouralan would have said no, but then she remembered that Long and his friends were probably problems.

            “I just feel bad, you know? I wish we could do something.”

            “Well we can’t. I don’t know how much that formula costs, but if he said it would take him lifetimes to earn that sort of money, then chances are we’re not going to have much luck raising that on top of our own.”

            “If I could,” Zitan supplied, “the first thing I’d do is buy myself a large house, with one of those gardens that you see in paintings, and then I’ll hire Reyne to make all of my dresses.”

            “I’d be glad to,” Reyne laughed.

            “Reyne would be the first of us to get rich,” Zitan went on, “she already has a head start.”

            At this, the girl shrugged. “Depends on what my father does.”

            “Oh, like he would begrudge his own daughter a little bit of wealth—“

            “I do have two brothers and two sisters—“

            “—and if you just marry you’d probably find some rich—“

            Ouralan laughed. “Like Lord Yu’s son?”

            “Maybe a prince!”

            “Now you’re making fun of me,” Reyne pouted. “As if a lord would ever look twice at a merchant’s daughter, let alone a prince.”

            “Well you are beautiful,” Ouralan insisted, even though she herself knew better, “so who knows? Maybe he would be entranced.”

            Though the conversation ended on a jovial note, Ouralan still found herself lingering on the vendor. Weaving took time, however, and was not something she could do from home. She stayed there until late in the evening, musing as she worked. There must be some way, with more people, to pool their resources and save one person’s life. That was not even including the ragamuffin, who was out in the streets come rain or shine, but she was even more at a loss as to what to do about him.

            If anyone can raise money, it would be Reyne, but she does not seem interested. She sighed, which earned her a few bemused looks, but no one pried.

            The week passed, and it was soon Ouralan’s turn to run the shop. She found the child by accident, at first mistaking him for a disposed bag. The boy was lying behind some bales of hay, arms curled around a smaller girl. Both were skin and bones.

            She called to him at first, thinking maybe she could buy him some fried bread and ask him some questions, but he did not answer.

            Oh no. Dread coiled in her gut. She stepped around the hay and crouched down. The girl twitched, blinking groggily. Her face had no baby fat at all, and her eyes were large and sunken in. The boy was still. He was lying on the side that had been hit by the spatula. When Ouralan tried to lift him, she saw that his face was covered with pus. It released a terrible stench that had her gagging and choking as if the air had turned solid.

            Cursing, she sprang out to the main street, a shout ready at her lips, but the sight of the many strangers, head ducked to avoid soliciting attention, held her call for help. Just who was she supposed to call for? What was she supposed to say? That there were two dying children no one wanted, lying behind some hay?

            The bull-faced vendor was drawing his cart to the side of the street. Her focus narrowed to him, and before she knew it, she was running.

            “Sir, sir,” She skidded to a stop as he gaped at her, “please, I need your help. The child—that boy, you need to help me carry them.”

            “What now?” But he abandoned his cart and followed her as she led him back where the children were still coiled together. He swore at the sight.

            “He needs a doctor—“ Ouralan stammered, “someone, I think he’s dying, they both are—“

            He took the boy and she took the girl. It was like carrying a rag doll. The child barely had any weight at all, and her bones dug into Ouralan. Pedestrians looked at them, inquisitive, as they both ran down the street. The clinic was just open, and the doctor was washing his hands in a bowl when the vendor ran in first.

            The boy’s face was worse than Ouralan had thought. The entire cheek seemed to have rotted away. She heard the vendor stutter, the doctor murmur something, but she did not understand the words. There was no way the boy could live. The infection had festered for a week, and the child was so weak to begin with.

            I should have looked harder for him. She should have searched for him that day when she met Long and his friends, instead of laughing with them at the winehouse—she should have looked for him after that lunch, instead of going straight home—she had forgotten entirely about him, so absorbed in her own stupid stupid—

            “Lay her down here,” the doctor tapped Ouralan’s shoulder, and Ouralan hastened to obey. The vendor had sat down next to the boy, who was completely still. The man was hunched over, head in his hands.

            “This one I can save,” said the doctor, “and for a reasonable price too. Go get some water for the child, she’s as dry as a raisin.”

~

            It was three hours later when she finally came back to the shop. The customers were at the door, questions pummeling from all directions. Was there a boy? Was he hurt? What happened?

            She worked in a daze, going through lunch because she had opened three hours late and had no appetite. She remembered more questions, concerned looks, answering with smiles and laughs that seemed alien and detached to the tumult waging inside her and the numbness in her head. She felt like she was in a warzone, forced to react to this question and that demand, to keep her façade intact even as her heart felt ready to shatter.

            In the afternoon, Long came in with a group of other browsers. He started off naming the patterns his sister wanted and the amount for each, but something about Ouralan must have seemed off, because as she was bagging his items, he asked, “Is everything alright?”

            “Yes, yes, everything’s fine.”

            “You’re not ill, are you?”

            “No.” I’m not. The thought made her face contort.

            “You’re upset.”

            “It’s nothing.” She tried to smile, which seemed to worry him even more. “I…it’s been an upsetting day.”

            “How?” He leaned against the counter in a way that implied that he was not going anywhere until she answered.

            “Just…it’s silly, really. This boy…he—“

            The door chimes sounded as a young man poked his head in. “Miss?”

            Startled, Ouralan turned to him. “Yes? Do you need something?”

            “Uh…Doctor wants to know what you want to do about the girl.”

            “…The girl?”

            “He said you and that other fellow brought the children in. She’s awake now, but she can’t stay at the clinic tonight. Are you going to bring her home?”

            “S-Sure,” Ouralan stammered before even understanding the question. “D-Do you need me over there?”

            “Well, she can stay until the clinic closes, so you should drop by when you’re done.”

            “Oh. Alright. I’ll stop by.”

            The young man slid out.

            Long turned around. “What happened to the boy?”

         A well of tears swelled forth. Ouralan covered her face with her hands. “He—I guess he was dead even when I found him this morning. I don’t know.” She wiped at her face, embarrassed. He probably thought she was a lunatic. “Sorry—“

            “No, it’s fine—“

            “I mean, this sort of thing happens all the time, somewhere. It’s just the first time—“

            “I totally understand—“

            “And for some reason I didn’t expect it, you know?” she looked at him, wanting reassurance that she had not been a complete fool at the time. “I mean he looked like he had lived long enough on the streets—“

            “You looked for him. You tried your best—“

            “It’s just that the next day I came by to look for him, and then I totally forgot.”

            Long lowered his eyes, and Ouralan was aware that now the blame laid partially on him. “I mean, it was totally my fault—“

            “Of course not. He was not your responsibility.” Long’s gaze became intent. “You did more than anyone could ever expect of you. Don’t blame yourself. At the very least, you saved that girl.”

            She sighed, still feeling miserable. “I guess now I’ll have to figure out what to do with her. I wasn’t thinking that far this morning.”

            “I don’t think anyone should, in this situation.”

            There was a patron waiting, looking at her with hesitant caution. Ouralan drew out her handkerchief to make herself more presentable. Long moved to the side so the customer could come forward.

            “How much for these?” asked the woman, holding up one of Reyne’s works.

            Long stayed for the rest of the day, his rolls of cloth in their bags on the floor. He seemed content to just be there, even if Ouralan did not talk to him. For Ouralan’s part, on any other day she might have felt unsettled, but she found she enjoyed the company. He was like a silent support, even though she had no idea how he would help her. His presence was comforting, and though she eventually grew curious as to whether he had other business to attend to, she was afraid to ask, lest she reminded him.

            Finally, it was time to close the shop. Ouralan swept the floors and took her things, including her uneaten lunch. Long went to the door, and then appeared to wave his hand at some flies. She followed, locking the store.

            “Thanks for staying,” she said to him when this was done, “I wasn’t much company—“

            “You were fine.”

            She looked down, and found she was sorry for him to leave. She did not feel very stable right now, and the evening ahead of her seemed like another terrifying obstacle. She was going to have to take care of a girl she did not know, who was very sick. At least she could afford to, in terms of money, but in the morning she would have to sew. Maybe she could stop by the warehouse to grab her things tonight, and just do her work from home, but then afterwards when she was supposed to be at the looms…maybe the girl would get better by then, but right now it was all very overwhelming.

            “Let’s go to the clinic,” he offered.

            She looked up at him. “You…you don’t need to leave?”

            He shrugged. “I’m not doing anything else.”

            She smiled, suddenly very happy, almost giddy with relief. “Alright,” she said.

            There was an odd look in Long’s eyes, one that Ouralan was too rattled to read. He smiled back. “Let’s go.”

            She nodded, and they went.

5: The First Evening

            The girl was a scrawny thing, but very scared. She stared at Ouralan without blinking, like a rabbit in the face of a rabid dog. Ouralan approached quickly but smoothly, taking the child’s tiny hand, talking in a low but continuous stream. Long hovered at the back with his rolls of cloth.

            “What’s your name, sweetheart?” Ouralan asked.

            The girl did not answer.

            She looked no older than five. Her wrists and ankles were small, while her head was large, with a prominent forehead. Stress and starvation had caused her hair to fall out in clumps, and Ouralan could see bits of scalp all around.

            “Come here, baby,” she gathered the little girl into her arms, “big sister will take care of you, yes? Here we go,” She lifted the child.

            “Mm…” The child whimpered, “Brother!”

         Ouralan’s heart seized, but she managed not to falter. “I know, love.” She bumped the girl up and down, and the child began to cry. “I know. I know.”

            The boy was nowhere to be found. Ouralan did not want his sister to see him. She was not sure if the doctor had explained to the child and she simply did not understand, or if he had left this sordid task to Ouralan. The girl started wailing, and Long finally approached, while the young man, who appeared to be an apprentice, held out porcelain jars filled with powder.

            “Boil ten spoonfuls, split into twice a day,” he looked at Ouralan with an awkward turn to his mouth, “but mostly she needs food. But you have to start off low. Broth, porridge. Eggs. Eggs are good.”

            The girl was now squeezing Ouralan’s neck, so she could not watch Long properly when he went to the counter.

            “We have to leave now, baby.”

            “I want Brother!”

            “I know,” Ouralan felt like crying herself, “but we have to go. Shhh, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”

            How am I going to take care of her?

            Once out of the clinic, the child went silent, though she clung to Ouralan as if her life depended on it. Despite being close to death that morning, there was such strength in the skinny little arms, as if being awake had given her a new burst of vigor. Long walked by their side, looking more dumbfounded by the child than Ouralan was herself. He stared at the girl, but the girl displayed no interest in him, burying her face in the crook of Ouralan’s neck as if hiding from the world.

            “I have to go to the warehouse,” she told Long, “I need to bring home my work.”

            “We can go.”

            Down the street, the bull-faced vendor was packing up his cart. He looked like he had aged by thirty years. The sight of him caused Ouralan to pause. As awful as she had felt after this morning, the vendor must be feeling even worse. She called to him, and he looked up, managing a forced smile.

            “That the girl?” he asked.

            The child seemed to have fallen asleep. “I’m taking her home, since she can’t stay at the clinic.”

            “Ah.”

            “Are you doing alright?”

            He shrugged.

            “Don’t blame yourself,” Ouralan soothed, “it’s bad luck, really. Wrong place, wrong time, and then no help in between. It’s not like we can endorse stealing, that kind of thing has to be cut at the roots.” No one could have guessed that a single hit, however wrong it might have been, would have resulted in this.

            “Hm.” he shrugged again. “Bad seed to begin with, probably better off dead.”

            Ouralan allowed him that, because the deed was done and the results had come and gone. Pursuing the case further did nothing for the dead child, and could possibly land the vendor in prison, leaving his sick wife and five children to starve.

            Long approached closer, which reminded Ouralan that she had been contemplating for an entire week on whether or not she should get him involved. At the very least, she should probably draw the situation out of the vendor while he was here. “How is Sisiril?”

            He shook his head and seemed to sink deep into himself.

            “How much is the medicine?”

            The vendor sighed. “Look, miss, I appreciate it, I know you want to help, but there’s no way we can get the money. He said there’s some kind of root up in the northern mountains that take sixty years to mature or something, I don’t know.”

            “But we can try,” Ouralan insisted, “I mean, if we talk to all the vendors here, and all the shop owners…I mean you’re not going to just wait this out, are you?”

            “I’m not a beggar,” the vendor snorted, “and if it were just a little bit of money, I can work to pay it off, but there’s no way I can do it. There’s no way my great-grandsons can do it. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” He raised his hand to his face, which had gone wet. “And it’s not even a guarantee that it would work. It could do nothing. So all I’m aiming for now is to keep her as comfortable as possible. She’s in a lot of pain…that’s the final stage, they say.”

            Ouralan stared at him in dismay. “I’m really sorry.”

            He waved in dismissal. “Eh, life sucks. What can you do? We just have to move on. You go on home now, you’ve had a long day.”

            He needed to get back home to his family as well. “Alright. Take care…”

            Long followed her like a silent guard as they left the marketplace for the warehouse. The child’s head was heavy on her shoulder, and was breathing deep, hoarse breaths of the very exhausted.

            Poor baby. Ouralan rubbed the small back, her fingers sliding over the prominent ribs under the tattered shirt.

            They arrived at the warehouse to find Reyne and Zitan still sewing.

            “Evening, girls,” Ouralan called out. The child in her arms continued to sleep.

            “Ouralan!” Reyne looked at the little girl, and then at Long behind her. “What…?”

            “Long day at work,” Ouralan went over to her station and adjusted her hold on her charge to free a hand, but Long swept next to her before she could figure out how to handle everything.

            “Let me. What do you need?”

            “Oh. The kit there, yes that, and the cloth, naturally. Just those. I have everything else at home. Thank you.”

            “Quite a day it must have been,” Zitan smirked. “Picked up a man and a child, look at you!”

            “This poor baby nearly died this morning,” Ouralan smoothed the girl’s hair. “Going to take her home, hopefully get her back in health again. This is Mister Long. Mister Long, these are two of my colleagues, Reyne He and Zitan Lu.”

            “Hello,” Long greeted as he added her work to his bags. Reyne stared at him with a stunned expression.

            “I won’t be here tomorrow or possibly the next,” Ouralan explained, “so I’m taking my work home.”

            Zitan had gotten up and circled around to take a look at the child. “Isn’t she the cutest thing! Lucky brat. Of course you won’t be coming in, this little one will be occupying all of your attention. Just make sure you do get some work done.”

            “Of course. I think she’d be sleeping most of the time. I’ll see you later in the week at the looms.” Hopefully.

            “Alright then.”

            Long became a silent guard again, and the two of them made their way to Ouralan’s home. It was part of a tenant complex that spanned the entire block. Individual homes were in their own separate buildings, but these buildings were clustered close together so that the walkways between them only allowed for a single person to pass through. It was a tight fit, and Long seemed to have trouble, looking about him as if afraid that the walls might crush in.

            Her own home was small, consisting of a single room with her bed and her work station, with one small table with a single chair on the side with the fire for cooking. Stacks of blankets and winterwear piled under the bed and to the sides of it. With two extra people besides herself, the little dwelling felt tiny, almost stifling.

            She laid the girl down on the bed. There was nowhere else to place her. “Have a seat,” she said to Long, “I’ll make you some tea.”

            He sat down slowly, looking about him. He seemed a little dismayed.

            She made a fire quickly, and set pot to boil. In the morning, she was going to have to fetch some more water. Long watched her work, and continued staring as she sat down on the bed next to the child and started changing her out of her dirty clothes.

            “I’m sorry,” She looked at her surroundings, and then at him. “It’s…it’s not much of a place.” He must be accustomed to grander homes than this.

            “Why are you apologizing?” He folded his hands. “Will you be alright?”

            She laughed. What a question. “It’s just a child. She’s probably going to spend most of the time sleeping. I can handle that.”

            They looked at the girl, who was almost snoring in her exhaustion. Long turned away when Ouralan pulled the shirt over the child’s head and dressed her in one of her own shirts. It was huge on the girl, but at least it was soft and clean. She adjusted the blankets over her, smoothing down her hair.

            “What are you going to do?” Long asked once she was done.

            She sighed. “See what happens, I guess. At the moment, her health is the main issue.”

            This is probably why everyone advises against getting involved. Trying to solve one problem only revealed more. She was aware she was digging a hole for herself, but she doubted she could have stopped if she tried.

            They watched the girl sleep for a while until the pot started whistling. Long watched as she poured for him, and once again they sat in silence. There was a strange sense of connection, more so than all the chatter had formed at the winehouse.

            “If you need any help,” Long finally broke the quiet, “with anything…I’m here.”

            Ouralan smiled. “I don’t need as much help as Sisiril.” She looked down. “I should like to never need help.”

            They fell silent again, and stayed until the sun set, when Long remembered that Ouralan should rest and he should be heading back. They bid each other farewell. Long took one last look at the place, before stepping out.

            He might not come back, Ouralan realized, as she walked him through the narrow passages to the streets beyond. Now that he knows what you are, has seen the world you are part of. The thought had her feeling bereft, but she turned around before he was out of sight.

            It was a dream anyway. One that Ouralan was too smart to believe in, however seductive it was.

6: The Morning After

            Ouralan slept poorly that night. It was odd to have a small body pressed against hers. The child, on the other hand, was warm and comfortable and without a care in the world. She woke up refreshed and in strong spirits, which she used for copious crying.

            “I want my brother!” the girl wailed, such that Ouralan got many knocks on the door for the ruckus. “I want brother!”

           Ouralan had no idea what to do, short of hugging the girl and showering her with kisses. The child was inconsolable, and the sobbing went on for hours, during which Ouralan neither managed to eat nor got any work done.

            She finally got a reprieve when the girl became tired and fell asleep. First she went to fetch water, and then she got a little bit of sewing done.

            Late in the morning, Long visited, much to her shock.

            “Heard from the neighbors that she had a strong pair of lungs,” he ducked his head so his cap would not hit the doorframe.

           Recovering, Ouralan took his cloak. “You have no idea. Poor girl. I wasn’t sure how to get her to understand that her brother isn’t coming back. She’s sleeping now though. Cried herself out.”

            “I brought something.” He reached within the folds of his cloak and pulled out a soft toy.

            “Oh!” Ouralan grabbed it. “This is perfect!” It was a little monkey, easy to hug and cuddle to. She looked at the child who was still sleeping. “I don’t want to wake her, but surely this would help. Thank you so much!”

            “No trouble.” He tilted his head. “You look like you could use a nap.”

            “I—“ she cut herself off with a laugh, feeling her cheeks grow hot. “I’m alright. Just a little stressed, but who wouldn’t be?”

            He allowed the topic to drop and looked at her work station. “What’s that supposed to be?”

            “My lamb collection.”

            “Lamb collection?”

            “Watch as I start a trend. Get the whole set, you can make a hat, a shawl, a purse with the same theme.”

            He raised his eyebrows. “Nothing else? No playing drums or lutes?”

            “I thought I would give that a rest. I don’t just do strange, you know. The point is to be cute.”

            His eyebrows shot up even further. “Fair enough.”

            “I mean, as long as it sells.”

            With him in the chair, she could not work. She found herself hoping he would go away. After starting work late yesterday, Ouralan wanted to make up for it by sewing more. She was already behind this morning; she had thought the child would spend most of the day sleeping, not crying at the top of her lungs.

            “What’s her name, anyway?” Long asked.

            Ouralan flushed. “Still don’t know. She wasn’t eager to share…I’m really doing fine. We’ll both be fine. These days aren’t supposed to be easy. You don’t have to worry.”

            He nodded.

            “I don’t know if you have somewhere to be…” Wait a minute… “The dance! Yesterday! Weren’t you supposed to be there?”

            He smiled. “You were supposed to be there as well. We both forgot. It’s fine. I can live with not seeing the Bamboo Fairy. Plenty have. But…” he lowered his eyes for a moment, “I was wondering…when…well, are you happy here?”

            “…What do you mean?”

            “I mean…” he seemed to feel as awkward as he behaved. “Living here, working—I guess, if you had a choice, would you stay here? In this town?”

            He was not making any sense to her, and Ouralan could not help the frown of confusion that tightened her forehead. “I don’t see how there’s a difference. A home is a home. A job is a job. Fabric and weaving is what feeds me and keeps a roof over my head. Doesn’t matter where.”

            She looked at the girl, wondering if perhaps she could train the child to be a weaver too.

            “You must enjoy weaving, then.”

            She shrugged. “It’s what my life depends on.” For girls without families, there were few options. Weaving was one of the better ones. “There is joy in it too. When you weave or sew, you build, from something raw and shapeless into something people recognize. It’s very fulfilling.”

            “Would you train her?”

            “I was thinking about it. It depends, I guess.”

            He suddenly leaned forward. “What if I could bring you to the capital with me?”

            The question hit her like a tidal wave. She felt a chill waft over her. All at once, she felt a consent surge behind her lips, but her willingness to go with him terrified her. It was completely irrational. His request was irrational. “Wh-what?”

            His gaze was steady and direct, but he must have noticed her pale, because he said nothing more. Ouralan felt sweat start to bead on her forehead.

            Don’t do something stupid.

            There was a knock on the door.

            “Ouralan!” Reyne’s voice called out, “Ouralan, it’s me!”

            “Oh, coming!” She seized the opportunity to focus on something else. Reyne slid in, but drew up at the sight of Long sitting at the table.

            “Oh!” she exclaimed, blinking. “What—I didn’t realize—“

            “It’s fine. Mister Long is just here to check on the girl. I thought you’d be at the looms today.”

            “I—Mister—“ Reyne frowned. “I—well yes, but…” She looked at the girl, who was stirring, eyes blinking open.

            Ouralan went to the child before she could start crying. “Hey there sweetheart, had a good nap?”

            The girl raised her arms to be hugged. Ouralan gathered the tiny body close.

            “Miss He,” Long greeted.

            Ouralan was impressed. He remembered her name. He had only seen her for a few seconds yesterday. Maybe it was because Reyne was so beautiful. Probably a good thing. He can go bother her for a change.

            It was a struggle to feel happy at the thought, but she thought she managed pretty well.

            “Oh,” said Reyne, looking lost. “I didn’t realize…”

            “It’s fine,” said Ouralan, “you weren’t interrupting anything. Mister Long was just checking to make sure I am handling this little one. Is there something you needed, though?”

            “I was hoping you had thread. Risha said…”

            “What kind?”

            â€‹Reyne continued to look about in dismay as Ouralan found the thread she was looking for. The other weaver left quickly, which had Ouralan wondering if there had been some kind of misunderstanding. Maybe…maybe Reyne had met him before. She was a merchant’s daughter, and while that did not place her in the same circles as a nobleman, they might have crossed paths at some point.

            “Do you two…know each other?” she asked Long.

            “I have had business dealings with her father.”

            “…Oh.”

            “I don’t know her that well. I didn’t realize the two of you worked together until yesterday.”

            The child pushed off Ouralan’s shoulder.

            “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” The girl had not eaten all day. “Are you hungry? Let me fix you something to eat. Why don’t you keep Uncle company, hm?”

            She sat the girl down on the table next to Long, who helped balance the child as she disentangled herself. The monkey she placed in the girl's arms. The young one held it securely enough, but did not otherwise study or play with it, instead looking about her as if in a daze.

            Ouralan had food, and it was a simple matter to start heating leftovers and cooking one new dish since Long was here. Some vegetables had to be chopped, so she went to the table across from the other two and got to work.

            “You don’t have any family here?” Long asked after a while.

            She might as well admit it. “No. I don’t know where they are, or what happened to them. First thing I remember is being at the weavershop up in Denan when I was eight years old. I don’t know who sent me there. All of the other girls had their parents to support their training. I didn’t, so I had to do odd jobs after the others went home and pay for my education afterwards. I think they died, or something.” She might have been sold; that happened on occasion, but usually such girls ended up in far worse places, so she did not believe it. “No one could tell me when I asked, no one seemed to know. I’m not even sure if my name is real. The headmistress always called me by this name. She was a good woman.” Strict, but good.

            “You’ve had a hard life,” Long observed.

            “I wouldn’t say that. I was fed, clothed. What happened to this little one never happened to me. I was taught what I had to know, and was generally surrounded by good people. I’ve had a lot of luck.”

            “You still had a hard life.”

            She shrugged. “We all have our troubles. That vendor has his troubles, his wife”—she shrugged again—“Their kids must be so scared. At least I’m grown. Though I guess Reyne and the others would disagree. They think I have a mind of a five-year-old.”

            “What, just because of your patterns?”

            “Among other things. They’re jealous because they can’t keep up with my wit, so they fall back on the ‘immaturity’ tactic.” She grinned.

            He snorted. “If everyone were ‘immature’ the way you are, the world would be a better place.”

            “Ah, you’re very kind.” She looked at the girl. “What, once Uncle is here, you’ve decided to start behaving yourself? Maybe he should come by more often.”

            The girl said nothing, looking between the two of them with wide eyes.

            “You come from the capital, right? When are you going back?”

            He did not answer for a moment. “I’m not sure.”

            “Are you here to visit your friends, or some kind of business? Or both?”

            “…Neither, really.”

            “Oh?” Interesting. “What else can it be?”

            He paused again. “Would you come back with me?”

            This again. Ouralan had completely forgotten he had asked once already. That was foolish. Fortunately, she felt a little more prepared than the last time. “What would I do at the capital?”

            “…Whatever you want.”

            She moved the chopped vegetables to the side. “And what happens when we stop getting along?”

            “…” He seemed at a loss then. “Why must we stop getting along?”

            “I’ve seen it happen.”

            “…It doesn’t have to happen to everyone.”

            She sighed.

            “I have a life here, Mister Long. I worked hard to make it. I have means to sustain myself, however meager, and I have friends, people I care about and who care about me. What would I have at the capital? There are plenty of weavers there, plenty of textile stores. I’d have to start all over again, assuming I even can.”

            “I’d help.”

            He looked insistent.

            “Why me?” Ouralan asked.

            She saw his jaw work, but he did not respond.

            The vegetables were ready, so it was time to heat the pan. Ouralan raised a fire, glad to have something else to do. The distraction did not work for long, however.

            “Don’t you want to do…better?” Long asked.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Live in a better house. Dress in better clothes. Maybe afford the sort of things you sell in your own shop.”

            Feeling a little insulted, Ouralan managed to bite back her temper enough to ask in what she thought was a civil tone, “I think I’m doing well. I’m living by honest means and I do honest work. It’s a comfortable enough life. What are you saying?”

            “So you’re not interested at all.”

            A little less patient, she snapped, “I’m proud of what I’ve achieved. I’m interested in a life where I can raise my head high and say that everything I have, I have earned, and they’re real and true and mine. I’m not interested in illusions. Just because I’m not a lady doesn’t mean I’m suddenly someone to be pitied.”

            “I don’t pity you,” Long said quietly. “I just wish I could do more for you. There’s little I can do here. And I don’t like having to leave you here, where the only family you have are apparently those weavers, none of whom you’ve approached for help when you suddenly found yourself saddled with a child to take care of.”

            â€‹Ouralan stilled at this, unsettled. “Well…I’m the one responsible for her.”

            “Why? Were you the one that hit him with the spatula?”

            “…No…” Did I even tell him about that? “…They all have their own problems.”

            “Like what? What problems do they have that you don’t?”

            “Well…” She waved her hand helplessly, unable to think of a good answer.

            Emboldened by this, Long went on, “You’re all by yourself, you say you have no family, the only friends you have you don’t feel confident enough in to trust them with your problems. Am I supposed to be fine with that?”

            “I can handle myself.”

            “Well I’d like to be there for you anyway.”

            “Why? You don’t even know me. We only met last week.”

            It was his turn to be at a loss, and she saw him turn away, but he ended up facing the girl.

            “Maybe you can convince her to come with me,” he said to the child.

            The girl just stared at him, clutching her soft monkey.

            Thankfully, he dropped the topic. Ouralan heated some leftovers from the previous evening in addition to the new vegetables, and Long moved the table to the bed so she could sit with the girl. To his credit, he ate his portion with a casual manner that seemed neither fake nor forced, even though she was certain someone like him must be use to better meals.

            The girl was ravenous, enough that Ouralan was scared she might overeat and get sick. She was sleepy afterwards, so Ouralan put her to bed.

            “If you come with me, you’d be able to take better care of her.”

            â€‹Ouralan let her head fall into her hands.

            “What if I found you work?”

            She sighed. “Mister Long, I appreciate your concern, but I’m not going to leave everything behind to follow a stranger I’ve known for—I don’t even know what you do!” Was he a merchant? A lord? “I mean if you really want to help me—“ No, she could not ask him for money. It felt too cheap. Nor could she demand that he help the vendor’s wife when the cure might not be a cure. Speechless, she threw up her hands.

            This time, he dropped the topic for good.

            “I need to get to work,” she said, “you can sit with her if you want.”

            “I need to get going.”

            “Oh.” So once he realized he could not seduce her, he was no longer staying. Figures.

            “Is it alright if I come back tomorrow?”

            Startled, it took a moment for Ouralan to recover her wits. “Sure. Hopefully she doesn’t start crying after you leave.”

            “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

            She started to walk him out, but he told her he knew the way. She withdrew to the workstation, wondering why her heart felt like it was clenching.

            It was so stupid to believe…

            Maybe she was that stupid after all.

            Shaking her head, Ouralan bent over the workstation and tried to focus on her work.

7: New Beginnings

            The child’s name remained a mystery, so Ouralan was eventually forced to come up with one.

            “Cuddles?” Zitan turned before she pushed the weft, “You named her Cuddles?”

            “I was going to name her Fluffy, but she’s not,” Ouralan paused as she pulled the shuttle, “We’ve been cuddling, haven’t we?”

            Cuddles was as silent as ever, though it was amazing how good nutrition and proper rest could alter one’s appearance even after just two days. After Long left, the child had woken up, but she seemed much more accepting of her current situation and was content to remain wherever Ouralan put her. Still weak and small, Ouralan did not think she should be alone today, so she had taken the child with her to the looms. So far, the girl was content to watch Ouralan work while hugging her soft monkey.

            Though Long had asked if he could come back the next day, he never did appear, something Ouralan tried not to think too much about. There was no good reason for him to keep visiting. She was probably just a curiosity, and could hardly be considered a friend. He had no obligations toward her, or to Cuddles.

            Though she wished she could at least tell him the child’s name. He would probably laugh, like he had laughed at her fabrics. The longing made Ouralan feel a little irritable, but she pressed the ill thoughts down, anchoring herself on Cuddles’ young presence.

            She needed to buy more clothes for the girl. She went out the day before and bought one set. It was expensive, but it was an emergency, and Ouralan calculated that she could afford this setback in finances. However, the rest of the wardrobe Ouralan intended to make herself.

            “Reyne is gone again today?” she asked Zitan. “Why is she always gone on loom day?”

            “Long and complicated personal affairs. I think her father is trying to find her a husband.”

            Ouralan’s lips turned a little at this. Some girls liked to talk about such things. She did not, but not because the topic itself was awkward, though that was also true. Everyone else had parents to arrange these matters for them, and while on occasion it could go awry like the ones that are told most in stories, for the most part things work out well, the couple live their lives with the occasional ups and downs, and the presence of parents on both sides keep the opposite spouse in line. For Ouralan, who had no parents of her own, there would be no one to look out for her, no one to care if she chose poorly, or if no one chose her at all.

            It might not have mattered much, except Ouralan had seen what happened to those who remain alone. Living situations are less important when one is young, but later on, as bones grow brittle and the heart tires, it can be difficult to live alone. The sort of things a young person can soldier through become much more significant as one gets older. Falls are more dangerous, illnesses more lethal, stress harder to bear. She would have to depend on others, would require a family to thrive.

            Ouralan could only wish for someone to annoy her with marriage plans.

            “This stinks, because she’s our main money-maker. Good luck convincing her husband to let her continue working here.”

             “One of us will have to adopt her style,” Ouralan noted. “Unless she does manage to keep working despite being a bride.”

             “And then having children?” Zitan huffed. “Plus, she might not even remain in this town when she marries. Who knows where her husband will come from, and she would have to go with him.”

            Ouralan sighed. “Poor Reyne.”

            “Poor us,” Zitan reminded her. “At least Reyne would find herself a good one, one that would let her soak her hands in nectar all day and attend banquets. My parents won’t have nearly as much luck. Whoever I marry would probably require me to work. I’d have to convince him to let me take days off weaving.”

             “You never know.”

            The other girl shrugged.

            Cuddles leaned against Ouralan, resting against her shoulder.

            “Tired, baby?” She paused to hug the child, “Come on, let me lay out a mat for you to take a nap.”

             “That child sure likes to take naps.”

            “Well she’s severely underweight.” The medicine might be speeding her recovery, but she was also constantly tired.

            “What are you going to do with her? Any plans?”

            “Going by the day. It’s still too soon to tell. She hasn’t spoken much. I’m worried that she might be developmentally delayed.”

            “I’ve heard of cases like that. Child gets scared, goes regresses for a while. It’s too early to say right now. But you’re not going to take care of her forever, are you?”

            Cuddles did not react to this, though she could just be lying still despite understanding. Ouralan smoothed her hand over the child’s head, aware she would have to watch her words. Adopting Cuddles permanently had not been her plan when she first rescued the girl, but it seemed increasingly unlikely that she could get away with disposing the child on someone else. “I’m here for as long as she needs me. One can say that our fates have entwined.”

            “I told you to mind your own business.”

            She shrugged. “It’s not so bad. Cuddles is a good girl.” The child was not even that taxing on resources.

            She went back to her loom as Zitan switched topics.

            “I meant to tell you,” she pulled the weft, “the best thing happened when I was minding the shop.”

            “What, did someone bring us money without buying fabric?”

            “Close, actually! This manservant came from Lady Yu, can you believe it? Asked for a ton of your fabrics, which reminds me: they have a custom order that they wanted you to make. It’s an odd request, but they want a series of tapestries with these animals: a leveret, a fawn, an owlet, a duckling, and a lamb.”

            Ouralan raised her eyebrows. “That’s it?”

            “Well they have measurements, and they want scenes, but they want you to come up with the scenes. They’d like them to be natural, though. Not like the one with the alcoholic frog, more like the deer eating pants. They want designs next week.”

            Tapestries. “I’d have to pause the other work in order to make these.”

            “They’re paying a lot of money.” Zitan laughed. “I was telling Reyne the other day, it figures that the one style we all thought was too juvenile to make big money would be the one drawing all the gold. It wouldn’t have to do with that handsome fellow who came in with you, would it?”

            Ouralan’s hands slowed. “I don’t know.”

            Zitan must have noticed, but she went on without care, “Well, if so, I would keep him close. We can use more business. We can always use more business.”

            Hmph. As if she had any say in the matter. The man could not even show up when he said he would.

            But he did introduce Lord Yu, and obviously showed them my samples. Ouralan did not know what to think. Lady Yu would never have even known about Ouralan’s work, if Long had not come by the shop. And now they wanted custom-made tapestries, woven with Ouralan’s sensibilities, which, again, would never just happen. If anyone had such requests, it would be Reyne.

            Well, I would not question good fortune. This was good for the shop, so Ouralan dismissed the matter. She would finish this length of fabric, and then get started on the tapestries. She was already forming ideas. Duckling riding a paper boat? Or does it really have to be natural? I hope this is what she wanted.

            This could be a big break for them, and for her. Considering the lady did see some of Ouralan’s work, she hoped that the lady knew what to expect, and that Ouralan was able to deliver. If not, hopefully it’s not the end for us.

            No pressure.

            The rest of the day passed quickly, with Cuddles waltzing off intermittently to explore the warehouse. Ouralan always called her back before she was out of sight, but the child was clearly curious, so during lunch Ouralan took the girl around the place. Afterwards she watched Ouralan work, hugging her toy monkey. Zitan tried to exchange a few words with her, but she only huddled to Ouralan’s side. They came home late, after Ouralan started the designs on the tapestry. She worked on some clothes after putting Cuddles to bed, but the child kept fussing and refused to calm down, so at last Ouralan joined her.

            The weekend rolled along, when all the girls gathered at the looms. They were all fascinated with Cuddles, with the exception of Reyne, who seemed uncomfortable and awkward. Ouralan was not sure why she was behaving this way, but the chatter of the other girls distracted her, especially with the tapestries now occupying her attention. Everyone was very excited, because with Lady Yu’s order, their store’s finances would be stable for a while yet. Ouralan tried to feel enthusiastic instead of dismayed; all of the sudden her ideas seemed stupid, but everyone insisted that her designs were less ridiculous than they usually were, even if her owlet was so fat it looked like it would explode in a shower of feathers, and maybe she should weave that instead.

            At length, on the morning Zitan was supposed to mind the shop, Ouralan left Cuddles in the care of the other girls and went to call on the noble household. The property was separated from the rest of the town by a tall wall surrounding the complex. Four guards were stationed at each gate, and they glared at Ouralan with hostility when she approached.

            Shortly after one of the guards went in to report, the gates opened to reveal a manservant, followed by young Lord Yu, who was beaming when he saw her.

            “Aoti told us you picked up a stray!” He held his arms out when she curtsied, “Come, come! I didn’t know we had such a treasure in our town! You haven’t been working too hard, have you?”

            He was easily as good-looking as Long, but less intense and with charisma of a womanizer. He made for a smart profile, tall and clad in bright whites and sharp blues. Ouralan found herself feeling very comfortable with him, and did not doubt that many other women would feel the same way.

            “I don’t know what you mean.” She held her designs under one arm as he led the way in. “Things have been going well.”

            “Good, good,” Yu chuckled, “my mother is so excited right now, I’ll take you to her at once. She’s been looking forward to seeing your designs all week.”

            The lord’s grounds were beautiful. Fall foliage painted the gardens and courtyards. The footways were paved with white stone and framed with wooden rails featuring flower patterns and stylized nature scenes. There were several buildings within the complex with tall white walls and dark wooden beams, but unlike Ouralan’s own residence, there was space to plant bushes and trees, position statues of herons and cranes, and even open a pond, where bright red fish bobbed at the surface, nibbling at bubbles.

            Several servants were crossing the footways. They bowed and greeted Yu as he went past. “I’ll have to see if Aoti is available,” Yu went on, “He’s been dealing with some issues since last week. Has he told you?”

            Ouralan blinked. “No.”

            “Hm! Strange! But then I suppose not so strange. I’ll leave him to tell you about it, but suffice to say, he and his sister have been at it for a while.” He did not clarify what ‘it’ was. “Here we are. Mother!”

            He was loud and noisy, which his mother wasted no time remonstrating. She was an elegant woman clad in regal black silk with colored embroidery, her hair largely black save for a few stray white hairs. Thin like bamboo, she looked like she was no more than thirty, even though her own son could very well be approaching that age.

            “And is this the delightful young lady?” Lady Yu asked as Ouralan curtsied, “Oh, and such fine manners! You don’t look nearly as naughty as your work.”

            Ouralan grinned. “Many thanks, milady. I will tell my friends you said that.”

            “Well! A good head on her shoulders too, or so it seems. Are those the designs?”

            She had a handmaiden take them from Ouralan, before unraveling them herself. She started laughing when she came across the first one, and held it up for the rest of the servants to see. “Isn’t that precious?” She pointed. “Look, the lamb is biting its sibling’s ear. And what expressions! And the flowers and butterflies are just dainty. Oh, the owlet!” She had to put them down to compose herself. “And the leveret is in a teacup! And the duckling in a boat. Yes, this is excellent. When do you estimate you will be done with all of these?”

            Once business was done, Lady Yu appeared to be interested in Ouralan herself. “You come from Denan, was it? I am not familiar with the area, but I do know that there have been some great weavers who came out of that place. Your style is not quite like the others, though. They don’t have such absurd ideas. How old are you? Unmarried? And yet they say you’ve adopted a child?”

            Ouralan was not sure what the big deal was. “She needed help. There was no one else, so I took her home. It’s not that impressive, really. I know Mister Long was worried, or at least I think, that she might be taxing on me somehow, but she hasn’t been. She’s a perfectly good youngster. At most, I worry for her health. She’s been eating, and she seems to be growing physically stronger, but emotionally I think she is still in shock. I don’t have that much experience with children.” Maybe she should ask the doctor after leaving the Yu’s, maybe the doctor would have some insight.

            “Hm, what they say is true.” Lady Yu did not elaborate what people said was true, but her smile grew warmer, and she took Ouralan’s hand. “Where are you living right now? I should like a companion, and perhaps with a change in scenery, that little girl would thrive better.”

            Ouralan was not sure when her life started throwing her these kinds of surprises. “Well, I live in the south district. I do appreciate your invitation, but I feel…” Should she go on? “For now, so many changes have happened with Cuddles. Her brother just died, she’s moved in with me, and who knows how long ago they both lost their parents. I don’t know if it’s wise to introduce another change when she’s still getting use to our current situation, not to mention the burden the two of us would place on you.”

            It was not until she finished talking that she realized all the servants were wearing expressions of shock and dismay. All at once, she realized that she probably should not have refused Lady Yu’s offer.

            Lady Yu, however, looked pleased. “A fair reason, and eloquently put. I know you will be no burden, Miss Ri. Once your little sister is a little more settled, feel free to come by. We would love to have you.”

            She likes me for some reason. Ouralan was baffled, but she was not willing to question this odd turn of events.

            Lady Yu was curious about Ouralan’s upbringing, but it seemed like everything she told Long relayed to her as well.

            “What kind of odd jobs did you do back in Denan?”

            “This and that, fetching water for the dye, cleaning, running errands, managing deliveries. Nothing outrageous. I was eight. They couldn’t force me to do too much.”

            “That’s unusual though. They just trained you in textiles without any sort of payment?”

            “I’m not sure. I was the only such case, so I guess I was unique. I don’t know if there had been arrangements of some kind. It wasn’t really something I dared to inquire into.” Lady Yu nodded at this. “I always knew that I had to work extra hard to pay back. One reason money is tight is because I send a portion of my wages back to the headmistress every month.”

            “You do?”

            “Yes. It’s reasonable, I think, and I just live on smaller means, that’s all. I can still have a roof over my head, and I eat when I should.”

            “Then having this girl to take care of--”

            “Oh, that’s fine. I’m fine.”

            “Continuing the tradition, eh?”

            Ouralan ducked her head, laughing. “I guess.”

            Lady Yu asked about Ouralan’s colleagues, which her son was also interested in.

            “I know Miss He,” Yu exclaimed, “her father is Fulo He, remember him? What a fellow, and his eldest son, the one with the very bushy eyebrows? And she has two sisters, I think. Or was it one? Anyway, she likes weaving, and the other likes music, or something.”

            “Reyne is the best of us,” Ouralan nodded.

            Yu leaned over. “You really believe that, don’t you? And you’re not jealous?”

            “If I were, would I tell you?”

            “Ha! Good one!”

            “And what about others?” Lady Yu asked, waving her son off.

            “Zitan’s the oldest of us. She’s probably the smartest of us. She”—Ouralan chuckled just thinking about her—“she makes fun of all of us. Nothing escapes her. She points it out and then really celebrates it. She works really fast, so she produces fabric more quickly than even Reyne. She’s also very good though, good technique and taste. Nanli has the longest endurance. She tends to do well with darker colors, more sedate designs. It kind of fits her personality too, because she is a no-nonsense kind of person. Risha is the youngest of us.”

            “Delightful,” Lady Yu shook her head. “We need to thank Aoti for discovering your group.”

            She let Ouralan go shortly afterwards, squeezing her hand and encouraging her to come visit as soon as the little one allowed. “If you need anything, be sure to let us know,” she told her, “Let me tell you, I like you. Girls like you…” She did not finish, but patted her hand and looked like she would very much like to, if she could articulate it.

            Yu led Ouralan out. “She means it, you know. If you need any help, consider us your friends.”

            Ouralan, feeling overwhelmed, barely managed to remember as she was heading out, that she should ask Yu to ask after Long, since she had not seen him and she knew that he was the reason she could even set foot inside this property.

            “I’ll let him know,” Yu smiled. “He’ll be happy to hear from you.”

8: Reciprocation

    Ouralan went to work on the tapestries as soon as she received Lady Yu’s approval. She still had to mind the shop on her assigned day, however, so she took Cuddles with her to the store. They reached the vendor with the skewers, which had the little girl swallowing while eying the sizzling meats. She reminded Ouralan of her own childhood, when she would see pastries in bakeries, but had no means to obtain any.

    She bought a skewer for the girl, but looked around for the vendor with fried bread. A quick scan down the street revealed nothing, and when the two of them came to the front of the shop, she saw that the spot he usually occupied was empty.

    I hope he’s alright. She hoped the wife was alright too. Cuddles had occupied most of her thoughts, but now she regretted forgetting about the vendor and his troubles. The poor man.

    “Hey!” A figure slipped up to her, and Ouralan caught the scent of unwashed clothes drenched in urine. A man, hunched over but still a head taller than her, stuck his outstretched palm almost to her face. His skin was rough and warts grew along his cheek, nose, chin, and along the joints of his fingers. From his mouth emitted a foul odor, with at least four teeth missing from the front. His eyes were beady, his hair matted, and Ouralan thought she could see lice jumping about his head, like fluttering mosquitoes.

    “You’re a good lass, yes?” he exclaimed. “Can spare some change for a fellow in need?”

    Ouralan yanked back, forgetting Cuddles for a moment in her shock.

    “Come on now, we know you got spares, can give some for the little one, can give some to her uncle too, yes?”

    “Yes!” another man exclaimed, and Ouralan whirled around to find herself facing a second beggar, this one with one eye turned outwards and breath smelling of alcohol. “Good girl this one is. Minds her shop and makes a profit. You won’t leave us starving and thirsty, will you? It’s been days since I’ve eaten…”

    He was almost upon her. Ouralan nearly tripped as Cuddles grabbed her waist, whimpering.

    “Move back!” she snapped, heart racing. This had never happened before. Beggars approached her every now and then, as they had approached others, but they were never this aggressive. “Move back, now!”

    “Aw, come! We know you can afford it!”

    “Why are you favoring that little girl over us?”

    “It’s not fair, you know!”

    “Stay back!” she snapped again. Why isn’t anyone helping?

    “…You’re a fake, you know that?” the first beggar growled.

    “She’s a fake.”

    “She’s got tons of money on her, I’ll bet.”

    “Maybe if we just take it for ourselves.”

    “Let me have it, you little—“

    He squeaked as he suddenly went flying. The second beggar rolled onto the street with a grunt. Aoti Long turned and looked between the two, cloak billowing as he spun.

    “Sir!” voices called, and Ouralan saw several manservants running. Long raised a hand and they stopped, though their faces still looked concerned.

    “Beggars have become robbers now, have they?” He approached the second one, who was cowering when he realized what happened. “Do you know the penalty for robbery?”

    “S-s-sir, it’s all a misunderstanding, I was just talking to the young lady—“

“Talking to her when she does not want to talk to you? That’s very discourteous.”

“…S-s-sorry, I-I-I-I won’t do it again, I promise! It won’t happen again!”

    “No it won’t.” Long sneered, and something dark and ugly resonated. “Vermin like you only poison our world. We’d all be better off without you. I’ll spare this town of your vile presence!”

    There was a flash under his hand as he lifted it. Out came a sword’s blade.

    Ouralan blanched as her blood chilled. He’s going to kill him!

    “No!” With a lunge, she grabbed his raised arm. He stepped back in surprise and stared at her.

    “Sister!” Cuddles cried.

    The whole street had turned to them, eyes wide and faces pale. The second beggar dashed away, pushing past the lines of people. The first, whom Long had neglected, had already vanished.

    Long took another step back. Ouralan released his arm, and he lowered it along with the sword.

    It was a beautiful blade, simple with an elegant hilt. With a smooth slide, he sheathed it.

    “He’d only be more trouble later,” he said.

    “And that’s reason to kill him?!” Ouralan cried in disbelief.

    The manservants ran up.

    “Sir!”

    “Milord!”

    Long turned to address the servants, while Ouralan tried to wrap her head around what just happened.

    He was going to murder a man. Worse, he could probably get away with it if he was important enough, and he very well could be. Nobles personally disposing of common peasants was unfortunately not a crime. She liked to think it took more provocation, like serious endangerment of self, before they would resort to that, however. The kinds of nobles who would eliminate peasants on a whim were usually those of low moral character.

    She was hit with a sudden clarity. Aoti Long was a noble. He was more important than commoners, more important than her. Nobles were more valuable than their subjects. If it came down to a noble or a farmer, the law favored nobles. A farmer would be punished severely for killing a lord. A lord would not even be fined for killing a farmer.

    And Ouralan had caught his notice.

    What kind of man is he?

    Cuddles had run to her again, squeezing her waist, tiny body trembling. Ouralan wrapped her arms around the girl and tried to calm her own heart. Think. Don’t panic. It would not do to act impulsively.

    Long’s shadow fell over her, and she looked up.

    “Are you alright?” he asked in a soft voice.

    She opened her mouth, but could not find her voice. She had no idea what to say either. Some words of gratitude, perhaps, but she felt too stricken to really mean it. It was like being saved from wolves by a tiger. One danger to another. Aoti Long was a dangerous man.

    The others on the street were giving them space. Long looked aside for a moment, before gesturing to her.

    “You have a shop to run.”

    She followed with stiff joints, as if all at once her limbs had frozen. Cuddles stayed by her side, now silent. Long stopped in front of the store and waited for her to approach. She unlocked it, feeling numb as her fingers seemed to work without her will.

    “I did not mean to frighten you,” he said.

    Ouralan looked down at Cuddles. Well, you did. She could not meet his gaze. He seemed so normal now, so unlike what she imagined careless lords to be. Was he that good at acting? Was this why so many young maidens fell for the heartless men?

    As she freed herself from the child’s embrace, she thought back to the event and wondered if there was any other interpretation for what he was about to do.

    “Were you faking?” she asked. “Were you just trying to scare him?”

    She had a feeling he was not. The beggar was already very scared. Her question, however, gave her the strength to look him in the eye again.

    He looked away. “I’m not sure.”

    She felt tears well up in her eyes. It was almost irrational, this reaction, but she wanted to weep, because his answer hurt her more than she ever thought it would.

    “Are we that worthless to you?" Am I that worthless to you? "…Are we nothing more than animals, that you can just…just kill if you don’t like us, if you happen to feel like it?”

    She was not even sure why she bothered to ask. Of course they were worthless to him. If he said yes, it would be a terrifying answer. If he said no, he would be lying, which was no better.

    Long took his time in answering. “If you saw what I have seen,” he said quietly, “you would realize that everyone is worthless.”

    It was his tone, more than his words, that made Ouralan draw up short. There was a heaviness to it, a solemn gravity. Compared to his four friends, Long had always been less exuberant, even if he engaged in jokes and laughter. Now, however, there was a real darkness about him, one that was painful with a touch of rage.

    She wiped her eyes, not sure what to make of it. “Good to know.”

    “Miss Ri, I would never harm you.”

    Ouralan sighed. “I appreciate it, Mister Long.” Maybe she should address him as lord, though. “Lord Long.”

    He looked crestfallen at this. “Miss Ri…”

    “I know, I…” She waved her hands. She did not know, she just said it so he could stop talking and go away.

    “It’s not that I don’t value human life.” She looked up in disbelief, and he amended, “It’s not that I don’t want to value human life.”

    That was a new one. “What’s so hard about that?”

    The rage was back, more potent than before. “You live in a bubble, Miss Ri. You think everyone around you is good and innocent—which is frankly absurd, given that earlier when those fiends were harassing you, not a single person on that street bothered to pull them off.”

    “So you took the opportunity to be a hero,” she snapped, incensed. How dare he chastise me, as if I were in the wrong—

    “I didn’t want to step in!” His jaw clenched. “I didn’t come to this town to make a scene and launch myself into notice, I was supposed to keep as low a profile as possible—“

    “So what are you here for?” It was not actually Ouralan’s first question, but somehow it jumped past her lips.

    “To escape!” He snapped back, his voice suddenly filled with fury and a raw agony that stunned her to the bones, and then raised his hands to his head in frustration. “To…to take a break from it all.”

    He looked aside, leaving Ouralan to stare at him without a matching gaze.

    “…Are you…are you in hiding?” Was he a fugitive? That seemed unlikely, given that he was with Lord Yu, and he was wandering around in the open… Shouldn’t fugitives be more…sneaky?

    “In a way, I guess,” he replied, still not looking at her. “It was…it doesn’t matter.” He turned toward the door.

    Fear bloomed in her, and her instincts screamed. If he left now, he would not come back. Earlier, she would not have missed him, but now, she had a feeling that despite all appearances, she was missing a vital truth, and if she did not obtain it, she would regret it forever.

    “Wait!” She ran and grabbed his elbow. He stopped, giving her a bewildered look.

    “I’m sorry…” And it was almost ludicrous, because what was she apologizing for? But she did feel sorry, however absurd it was. Something must have happened to him, just like with that vendor. Something terrible enough to turn a human being into a monster. With the vendor, it was that one careless moment, but however awful his actions were, it was nothing in comparison to the misery he had felt inside. Could Long be the same? Could Long have been worse? “I just…I don’t understand. I really want to, if…if you’re willing.”

    Long was silent for a while, his eyes unblinking. She held her breath as the moment stretched. His eyes seemed filled with hurt and hope, all at once. Too real for him to fake.

    He moved his other hand and covered hers as it continued to grasp his arm. After a moment, he took it off and let go. The manservants rushed after him as he slipped out, and they disappeared from sight.

    “Sister?” Cuddles asked softly, “Will Uncle come back?”

    Ouralan reached down to draw the girl close to her.

    I wish I knew.