Suisui

Spring days lingered, slow and sweet. In courtyards across Mingting, flowers were in magnificent bloom.

Suisui sat slumped over her desk, a brush clutched in her hand and a smudge of ocher paint on her cheek. After painting intently for hours, she stood up to admire her masterpiece—a cluster of overlapping blues, greens, and deep reds. It was hard to tell what it was, but it radiated a cozy warmth. Content with her work, Suisui snatched the paper and dashed outside, her skirts stirring the air and sending blank sheets rustling behind her.

"Yangyang! Yangyang—"

In a flash, the paper was in Yangyang's hands. Suisui braced against the qin table, searching her sister's face. "Can you tell what it is?"

Yangyang studied it, her fingertip tapping a golden smudge on the right, then a white one on the left. "It's... two little birds nestled together."

Suisui's eyes lit up, and she smacked the table. "Exactly! They're birds! I knew those adults were blind! They kept saying they were baby chicks!"

"No, they aren't." Yangyang put the drawing down and tilted her head. "A baby chick's tail droops. These are perked up."

"That's right!" Suisui wanted nothing more than to scoop her sister up and spin her around. "You're the only one who understands my art!"

Yangyang accepted the praise with only a soft curve of her lips. She pointed to the golden cluster on the right. "Is this one you, Sister?"

"Mm-hmm! The one on the right is me, and the one on the left is you." Suisui leaned closer, using the tail end of her paintbrush to point at the snowy bird. "See? It's dainty. Just like you."

That was how the springs of their childhood slipped by. Outside, clusters of pink and white blossoms hung heavy over green leaves. Whenever a breeze swept through, petals would drift onto the qin table, the girls' sketches, and their hair. Soft sunlight bathed the courtyard in a golden hue. Birds chirped beneath the eaves, blending with the drifting notes of Yangyang's qin. Suisui would lounge across her desk, or settle on the veranda, raising her drawings to the sun to watch the colors softly bloom across the paper...

Days moved so slowly back then. The shadows beneath the eaves crept inch by inch, carrying whole afternoons away. And then, before one could even notice, many springs had already passed.

Once summer arrived, the courtyard felt as suffocating as an upturned bamboo steamer.

The ceaseless song of cicadas swelled from dawn till dusk. Even the lotus flowers in the water vat beneath the eaves hung limp, a perfect mirror of Suisui's mood. She lay sprawled across the windowsill, staring out at the sun-bleached sky. Behind her, Yangyang sat practicing her qin. She had replayed the same melody seven or eight times over, its notes seemingly melting in the dense heat. Listening to it, Suisui felt as though her own brain was about to dissolve into a puddle just like the music.

"Are you going out, Sister?" Yangyang paused at the sound of Suisui pushing herself up.

"To the river." Suisui tossed a smile back over her shoulder, her long hair whipping past her jacket. "There's a breeze over there. I'm suffocating in here."

"But the sun is blinding—"

"It won't kill me!" Her voice was already vanishing around the corner of the wall.

The riverbank wasn't far, just a quick dash through two alleys. Suisui walked briskly, tapping her folding fan rhythmically against her palm. The moment she stepped onto the embankment, a cool, damp breeze greeted her, thick with the fragrance of river reeds.

The docks were a bustling hive of activity. At a nearby stall, a middle-aged merchant was clacking away on an abacus, calling out numbers line by line as the beads flew. Mesmerized, Suisui stepped closer, her lips moving in a silent murmur as she mentally kept count alongside him.

When the merchant snapped the final bead into place and looked up, he gasped, startled by her bright, intensely focused eyes. "Where did you spring from, little girl?"

"Manager Liu, that's three hundred and twenty-seven bolts of fabric in total, right?" Suisui chimed in, ignoring his question entirely.

Manager Liu looked from his ledger to her, a smile tugging beneath his mustache. "You were following my abacus?"

"Didn't need to. I did the mental math while you were reading the numbers aloud." Suisui grinned, completely unfazed. "And that batch of tea leaves was one hundred and six and a half jin, wasn't it? I caught a snippet of it while walking past."

Manager Liu set his abacus down and gave her an appraising look. "Well, aren't you a sharp one... Say, how about you come work in my shop?"

"How much monthly pay are we talking?"

The bystanders burst into laughter. Manager Liu chuckled too, tapping her playfully with his fan. "Alright, little boss, off you go. Don't cause trouble for my business."

Amused, Suisui fanned herself and strolled over to the neighboring herb stall. Out of curiosity, she asked the owner why they didn't use the land routes for faster transportation.

"Land routes are faster, but they're bumpy," the stall owner explained patiently. "Herbs can't take a bruising. If they get crushed into a pulp on the road, they aren't worth a copper."

Suisui picked up a herb, sniffed it, and carefully set it back down. "Seven days by water, three days by land. But a bruised cargo loses more than half its value, so trading time for preservation is the smarter investment." She ran the math through her head and found the logic of trade utterly fascinating.

The sun gradually dipped below the horizon, and the crowds along the riverbank began to thin. The last few cargo ships untied their moorings, their sails billowing in the evening breeze as their long shadows drifted across the gold-dusted water. Suisui sat on the stone steps and finally put her fan down. She tilted her head back, tracking the vessels as they cleared the shallows, crossed the heart of the river, and shrank into dark speckles against the edge of the sky.

"Where are they heading...?"

No one replied, but she already knew the answer. Those ships carried grain, fabrics, and herbs gathered from everywhere—the north, the south, the mountains, and the coasts. They would cut through great rivers and scale mountain ranges to reach places far away, places she had never been before.

"One day, I'll be on one of those ships. Standing at the bow, with the shipping list in my hands."

Before the darkness fully set in, Suisui stood up and brushed the dust from her skirt. The stone steps still held a lingering warmth from the afternoon sun. She turned back to look at the river one last time. Beneath the vast canopy of night, scattered lanterns dotted the dark water like stars. It was breathtakingly beautiful—a world at peace, and a life she loved with all her heart.

When autumn arrived in Mingting, the wind swept withered yellow leaves against the latticed window before tearing them away, like someone slowly turning the pages of an old book.

Yangyang was leaving for Jinzhou to become an Outrider. The decision had been made half a month ago. Though the family left it unsaid, everyone kept endlessly busy, as if trying to outrun her departure. Inside the room, Suisui was helping her sister pack. The camphorwood chest had been open all day, the dried mugwort at the bottom releasing a bitter, clean scent. She shook out Yangyang's clothes one by one, folding them with care. Outside, a lone insect chirped in fits and starts, reluctant to surrender to the autumn.

The sunlight carrying the camphorwood's fragrance fell gently across Suisui's hand. Looking up, her gaze rested on the central pillar of the hall. Row upon row of notches were carved into the wood, stretching from knee-height to her ear. The lowest two belonged to Yangyang at ages seven and nine, marked lightly by their father in fear of hurting his daughter. Suisui remembered Yangyang could barely stand straight back then, having to steady herself against the pillar. Yet even as a toddler, she had been exceptionally sweet, filling Suisui's heart with a silent pride: Yes, this is my little sister.

Further up was Suisui's own notch from when she was fourteen, a year she had thrown a tantrum insisting on leaving home to study medicine elsewhere. Her father hadn't refused outright; he simply made her stand before this pillar for the better part of a day. Staring at the stacked markings, she had watched herself grow, inch by inch. Somehow, she realized her growth felt so fast, and yet so slow. She may have grown taller, but she still had much to learn.

Near the top, Yangyang's notches grew closer together. The one from last winter, carved by Yangyang herself, was barely half a finger shorter than Suisui's. By the spring of this year, they stood at the exact same height.

A scattering of birdsong drifted in from the courtyard. Suisui pushed the door open, the autumn sun striking her face with a fleeting warmth. Beneath the eaves, a blue-backed bird leaped from a branch, its wings stirring a rustle of yellow leaves.

Yangyang was crossing the yard from the other end. Pausing at the steps, she saw her older sister under the veranda and walked over. Suisui offered her a soft smile.

"When do you set off?"

"Tomorrow morning."

Suisui let out a quiet "Oh." She wanted to say more, but the words dissolved on her tongue. Instead, she reached out and gently adjusted the collar of Yangyang's cloak. Yangyang stood perfectly still, waiting. Only when Suisui pulled her hands away did Yangyang speak in a low voice: "I will come back."

Suisui smiled. "Go on, then. The winds are harsh in Jinzhou. Take care of yourself."

Yangyang nodded. Hearing their parents call her name, she turned to join them. She walked slowly, her back held straight, already adopting the bearing of an Outrider.

Once more, Suisui was left alone. The blue-backed bird returned to its branch, chirping with its head tilted high. Withered leaves blanketed the steps. She bent down to pick one up, wondering which book she should press it into, before realizing it didn't really matter.

After all, autumn always passes.

Suisui rose to her feet. From beyond the courtyard walls, the distant neighing of a horse drifted in, like an echo carried from Jinzhou. She knew it was impossible, yet she stood listening for a long time before turning back to the room.

The camphorwood chest was still open, waiting for her to close it.

Winter in Mengzhou rarely brought snow, but that year, a soft white blanket had covered the lake in just half a day. The boatman rowed slowly, tactfully keeping silent so as not to disturb it.

Suisui sat at the bow, a white porcelain pot resting on her lap. The steam rising from its spout dispersed the moment it hit the chilly air. She poured a cup for her guest, then filled her own. The faint splash of tea meeting the porcelain cup was quiet, yet it easily masked the sound of the oars cutting through the water.

The negotiation was going poorly. The opposing party refused to yield, and the stalemate had dragged on for three days. That morning, Suisui had sent an invitation, suggesting they set the matter aside and meet on the lake. The guest arrived fashionably late, wrapped in a gray cloak as the sun began to dip into the west, offering only a brief nod as she boarded.

The small boat drifted toward the center of the lake. A light mist rolled across the water, slowly dissolving the silhouettes of the distant mountains. In such a rare, tranquil setting, Suisui naturally set business aside. Ever sharp and eloquent, she broke the ice by speaking of her hometown. She described its waters, so clear one could count every mismatched pebble at the bottom. She spoke of her childhood, watching merchant caravans unload on the riverbank, the stacked sacks towering feet above her head while the crisp, enchanting clatter of abacus beads echoed through the air. She painted a picture of the day she left home under a drizzling rain, where the mist blurred even the faces of her parents as they saw her off. These distant stories traveled across the years aboard their swaying skiff, arriving at last upon this snow-dusted lake in Mengzhou.

"For me, the more of this world I see, the more I fall in love with it," Suisui murmured. "I want good things to reach the places they belong. Grain to famine-stricken lands, medicine to the sickbed, fabrics to the impoverished. But these things won't just walk to those in need on their own. Someone has to connect the dots, and I don't want to just be a bystander."

The guest didn't answer. She only rested her teacup against her knee and gazed out over the water. Suisui watched her fingers tighten and loosen against the rim of the cup, again and again, before a faint sigh finally escaped her lips.

By the time the boat docked, the snow had grown heavier, falling like delicate flakes of cotton. Stepping onto the stone stairs, the guest looked back at her and finally uttered the words: "We will talk again tomorrow." Then, raising her umbrella, she vanished into the snowstorm. Watching the gray silhouette fade into the white expanse, Suisui knew the tide had turned.

Suisui stood by the shore for a long time before leaving. Her lodgings lay to the east of the lake, and by the time she walked through the door, her shoes were soaked through. She knelt before the hearth to start a fire. Sparks sputtered a few times before catching, and the charcoal's warmth seeped outward, first comforting the back of her hands, then warming her face. As the snow fell silently outside the window, she leaned against the hearth, her eyelids growing heavy.

In her dream, it was summer in her hometown. The sun was blindingly bright, and the air inside carried the rich fragrance of aged timber. Caravans were unloading tea bricks, dockworkers shouldered heavy sacks of salt, and the shopkeeper tossed strings of copper coins onto the counter with a rhythmic chime that sounded sweeter than any music.

Barely reaching an adult's waist, little Suisui stood beneath the window of the counting house. Peeking over the ledge on her tiptoes, she was utterly transfixed, ignoring anyone who called her name as her eyes shone with brilliant focus.

Back then, she didn't understand the mechanics of commerce. She only knew that the most fascinating things in the world lived within that small window frame. The merchant looked up, caught her staring, and smiled. Reaching into his brush pot, he slid an old paintbrush out through the window. Suisui reached to take it. The brush was thicker than her fingers and felt immensely heavy in her hand. Gripping it tightly, she slowly stood tall beneath the window.

Suddenly, the clinking of copper coins, the jingle of mule bells, the shouting of vendors, and the rhythmic chants of the dockworkers all rushed toward her, enveloping her small frame. She smiled, her eyes crinkling into crescents, filled to the brim with overflowing joy.

Nightfall descended upon the Land of Xuanfang, the twilight sinking inch by inch across the horizon. Suisui walked along the thoroughfare, her steps clicking softly against teal stone slabs. The sky's amber afterglow bathed the street where lanterns yet to be lit swayed gently in the breeze. Shops were closing for the night. Vendors carried wooden shutter boards back and forth, their casual chatter drifting into the evening air. Suisui moved through the shifting play of light and shadow, her silhouette stretching long across the ground.

The Waking Moon Festival was drawing near. Stacks of colorful silk lined the storefronts as shophands counted the bolts being carried inside. A group of children dashed past her, only to freeze at the street corner. They stared wide-eyed at a row of steaming mechanical cauldrons, swallowing hard before finally tearing themselves away with reluctant backward glances.

Suisui stopped by the stall and observed for a while. The vendor was selling "Brocade Pearl Meatballs"—glistening, tender orbs garnished with green onions, lined up neatly in bamboo steamers.

"One steamer of Brocade Pearl Meatballs, please."

The vendor looked up, saw the young woman before him with her smiling eyes, and beamed in response. Taking the steamer, Suisui paid her tab, then slid a few extra Shell Credits across the counter.

"For those children who just ran past. Please give each one a serving," she said, her voice light as she turned to leave. "No need to tell them who it's from."

The vendor blinked in surprise, but by the time he looked up, her figure had already vanished into the crowd.

As darkness set in, lanterns across teahouses and taverns flickered to life, spilling warm, golden light onto the pavement. Suisui stepped through the glowing patches, her hands full with the bag of warm meatballs. When the wind blew a stray lock of hair across her face, she didn't even have a spare hand to brush it away.

It suddenly occurred to her that she had left her water fan behind. She chuckled, unbothered. There were few occasions that truly required her to wield it anyway. The real storm had already been weathered during the Siege of Xuanfang Hold. Everything had settled now, peaceful enough that she had the luxury to stroll the streets and watch people spend a perfectly commonplace evening.

With that thought, her pace unconsciously quickened.

Just past the narrow alley and over a small bridge lay her destination. Her sister was there, and so was that person. She wondered if they had already lit the lanterns, and whether they would enjoy this dish. She had walked through the spring and summer of Mingting, where her young self ran through bustling crowds with her hair flying in the wind, her heart captivated by the vibrant tapestry of the world. She had walked through the autumn and winter of Mengzhou, rowing into misty mornings to negotiate trade, and sitting alone on snowy nights to read family letters over and over by the hearth.

And now, those seasons had led her to this very evening. Beneath her feet were the roads of Xuanfang. In her hands was a treat for the people she held dear. Suisui shifted the bag to her other hand and quickened her pace. The wind rushed down the long street, sending her sleeves billowing against the hazy scatter of lantern light. She squinted into the glow, but she didn't slow down.

The bridge was just ahead.