Empress (A Tickle Commission)

Feasting Passions

The lively melodies from the festival carried all through the wooded path to Meiling's remote sanctuary. Distant lotuses chirped while fireflies swirled through the air. The girls had picked up special ingredients for their planned meal at home. Meiling carried a jug of cream and a bundle of fish under one arm while Lee brought with her fresh rice and cakes from the open market. The nightly wind brushed through their hair as they walked and basked in each other's company, enriched with the scents of coming rain and virgin blossoms. Once back home, the music from the festival faded. The quiet of their solitude hung in the air with tension and promises for their night ahead.

"I'll start cooking," Lee said, shooting Meiling a subtle grin. The pair set up their supplies in the kitchen area before Meiling brushed back her hair, the light from the lanterns always making it look more red than usual.

"Sounds good," Meiling said. Her heart fluttered in seeing Lee's rosey lips smile. "I should probably clean myself up."

The pair parted for their tasks. Lee started preparing the food how Meiling had taught her while Meiling made her way to the wash basin. The festival's activities had left her itchy with dried sweat. Getting cleaned up was a certain necessity that ran through her mind the entire walk home. She stripped off her robe and knelt down by the bronze basin of rice water. Meiling cupped some in her hands and let it wash through her hair and down her back. It chilled her, but she quickly became accustomed to it. The water poured down her body in cupped handfuls. It coursed down her breasts and back. She scrubbed small traces of dirt from her face and arms. It soothed her stomach down to her thighs. Meiling spent special attention cleaning out her lower region and the frail patch of hair surrounding it. After she finished washing the rest of her body, Meiling dipped her feet into the basin to wash away the last remaining grains of dirt, spending additional time polishing her soles and toes with a towel to near perfect presentation.

Meiling covered herself with a white silk hanfu, letting her hair dry by the open window. Tian's words continued to come back to her like ghosts riding on the nocturne winds. The night was living up to be a dream, though a gnawing feeling in her chest left a sickness rising within that kept surging with her racing thoughts. She stared out into the night. A bright moon lit the way for her to see her mother's shrine in the distance. She watched it closely, the trees around it shifting and parting for her eyes.

"Mother," Meiling whispered. She clenched up. Meiling closed her eyes and listened to the soft wind whistling through the trees. "What should I do?" The clean night air cradled her cheek. A cooling sensation against her damp skin resonated throughout, though she gave no shiver. Her wet hair blew up slightly, shifting to the wind.

Lee worked diligently getting everything ready to satiate her spur-of-the-moment idea. She laid steamed rice atop porcelain plates and fish cut out on bamboo mats. Cooked vegetables were organized into small bowls for preparation along with fresh soy sauce. She lit more lanterns and made sure everything was as pristine as she found it by the time she was done.

A bead of sweat fell down the side of Lee's face. She wiped it away, feeling the moisture between her fingers. Never had she felt anything similar back at the palace. Her mind ventured back from earlier that day. The gold trims. The silk garments and adornments. The heart-thrashing anxiety of getting caught where she was supposed to feel safe. It all made her feel more assured of her decision and left a lingering dread deep within her for what the inevitable sunset of her day would bring. Knowingly stepping back into that cage. A life of everything, yet nothing that mattered. Not after what she had seen, all that she had felt. Never had she had to cook or clean before, yet none of the luxuries enjoyed by Empress Dowager Hong Yuanji came at a cost she was willing to pay. Not for the life she wanted. Not for what she had come to love. Nor for whom.