THE SADDEST GIRL SINCE THE SONG DYNASTY

A PATCH OF BLUE IN A SKY OF BROWN - PART II

And with several small accomplishments achieved by mid morning – she had managed to, one, obtain free breakfast for all in the group through diplomacy, and two, capture a just-him-and-her photo with the inn's youthful manager without arousing the suspicions of Ander or Bingbing as to acts she had not yet decided whether to share – Lady Zhao was in a sufficiently good mood to placate and even humor Bingbing. On the shuttle bus, she apologized for her moodiness the previous day; on the seemingly unending stairs leading to the temple perched at the summit of one of the prominent peaks and renowned for bringing romantic luck, she made jokes about how, if she had to put up with herself, she'd be driven to first-degree murder; she asked Bingbing to promise her, to swear a sisterly oath, that if she should ever again become such an insufferable dinosaur, Bingbing had the duty to grab a handful of hair and literally pull it from her scalp. If there was no blood, it hadn't been done properly.

It played very well in Bingbing's mind. Maybe too well. Bingbing was so buoyed by this, the girl who had opted to stay in a hotel on the one previous occasion when the elevators were out in her apartment complex (because she was so averse to bodily exertions), the girl with the aching legs, veritably skipped up the two-hundred meters of the ascent's steeper second half, frequently turning to call the names of animals that were infamously slow at Lady Zhao and Ander, like slug, panda, tortoise, crab.

They got higher and higher, but a thick jungle canopy that mostly enclosed the stone steps from above meant that no sprawling vista opened up. The particulate count in the atmosphere for the day didn't help matters, and while glimpses of the sea could be caught, the mainland was obscured through the haze. Ships could be spotted, but it felt like there was never one in full view, only ever a half or third, with branches or trunks or slopes in the way; meanwhile, the summits of the other mountains on the rugged island hid around corners.

The three arrived at the peak somehow ahead of Lady Zhao's rough schedule. Like relieved parents at a fairground, Ander and Lady Zhao stood with each other by the large cauldron in the temple's central courtyard, breathing in the joss stick fumes with curiosity, surrounded by yellows roofs, red walls, gray paving stones, intruding green branches, watching on as Bingbing fought for space in the crowds and performed elaborate prostrations, first to every one of the many frightening figurines situated around the main pavilion's perimeter, and next, to the healthy and content looking Buddha in the middle. It was there, standing and waiting calmly when, for the first time since his arrival some two weeks before, Lady Zhao appreciated – she might be bold enough to say, enjoyed – Ander's company.