My King of Flowers
7. Form

CHAPTER SEVEN

Old phrases about the separation of sex be damned. Like a moth to a flame, Yinuo approached the pavilion where her brothers toasted Cuilin. The laughter echoed through her as she cautiously reached the covered platform, peeking in behind the red columns at the prince. He held his cup with one hand as her brother Sile enthusiastically downed a toast. ”Ganbei!” Weixin’s cheer resounded.

“Whoa, whoa, no fair, I just finished mine! Let me pour another drink!” Sile cried, almost falling over the table to pour the wine. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Once more, Cuilin’s smile captivated her like a lure as she took a steady breath and ascended the short stairs to join them. Around the small table, Weixin, with his back to Yinuo, sat across from Prince Cuilin, facing both the garden and Yinuo’s approach. Sile positioned himself at the side of the table with his drinking bowl in hand. The table was adorned with bottles of baijiu, cups, and small bowls filled with dried fruits and walnuts. Curtains of red, draped around the pavilion’s corners, had been tied back with ribbons that fluttered in the spring’s breeze, complemented by ornate panels built into its sides that blocked the wind. There was ample space at the table, surrounded by large black cushions, to comfortably seat all her brothers.

Cuilin finished his glass, and as he went to lower it from his lips, he paused upon seeing her. “Young miss,” he said, his gaze shifting to Weixin for guidance. Weixin turned his head and beckoned her to join them at the table.

“Yi’er! Are you here to toast Eldest Brother with us?” Weixin smiled.

“I came to say goodbye,” Yinuo said. Weixin’s brows furrowed, and he placed his cup down.

“Goodbye? What is this about?” he asked.

“You’re leaving after the wedding, and Mother says my time is better spent outside the home,” Yinuo explained, flitting her eyes to the prince.

“I see,” Weixin said.

She bowed her head, hating these parting moments. “Be safe, Weixin.”

“Oh, what is that?” he complained, pulling her arm down and giving her a side hug. Yinuo enveloped herself in her brother’s embrace, closing her eyes and letting herself get lost in him. She opened her eyes to see him pouring her a bowl and motioning her to take it. “Drink, little sister. To the willow.”

“To the willow,” she replied, downing the cup as if someone had shoutedganbei.

“What is that?” Cuilin asked softly as he topped off his glass.

“A family tradition,” Weixin replied. “Yinuo, you’ve met Prince Cuilin officially now, right?”

Yinuo nodded and turned to him. “We have been introduced. You are Lord Nie’s adopted son?”

“En, close enough. He is my uncle. I am a prince of Zhou.”

“I have...scarcely heard of that place,” she replied.

“It does not surprise me; as long as I stay, Zhuo remains a name on our maps. Happily forgotten and out of conflict.”

“It must be hard to be so far from home,” she stated.

“En,” he dismissed, glancing away and taking his drink to avoid her.

She turned to her brother and explained, “Weixin, I can’t stay and keep you company. Mother expects me to pack for Uncle Gao’s place.”

“Will I see you at the ceremony?” Cuilin asked.

Yinuo paused, then chided herself internally. She nodded and said simply, “I wouldn’t miss it. It’s the first time in a long time we’ve had a reason for all my brothers to come together.”

“It’s good to have family,” he replied.

“Tell me about yours,” she asked, not thinking if bringing up family might upset him.

The prince smirked but let the comment go. “My uncle takes good care of me,” he said, inclining his head—a polite response, but closed the subject. Yinuo leaned forward, elbows on the table, again taking in his face. Perhaps she was mistaken; Dehai did not have the large scar that traversed the left side, beginning at his brow, slashing across his eyes, and ending at his upper cheek—only the small one that graced his chin.

“Yinuo,” Sile whispered, “It’s rude to stare.”

“Ah, let her stare,” Weixin waved off, his cheeks flushed, taking his bottle and pouring another bowl. “Prince Cuilin, shall I pour you another?”

“Please,” he said.

“Gege, Danni ge is going to be mad at you if you finish the bottle without him.”

“Danni doesn’t need to know,” Weixin shushed him.

“He said he’s coming back!” protested Sile. “Pour mine, too!” he added excitedly as the last drop of liquid filled his cup. Yinuo had finished her baijiu and merely shook her head.

“Would you like mine?” Cuilin offered.

“No, it wouldn’t be proper.”

“Rules.” Cuilin rolled his eyes. “Weixin, we’ve run out of wine.”

“Youngest! Go get the good stuff!” Weixin declared.

Sile soured at the notion, but obediently smiled as he finished the last of his drink and pushed off of the table. As Sile went to fetch another bottle, his movements lively and his demeanor gleeful, Yinuo watched him with interest. Meanwhile, Weixin released his arm from around his sister and took another sip of his drink. “Ah...gotta slow down. Sorry, Yinuo.”

“It’s fine,” she said, “When was the last time you enjoyed drinking?”

“After the archery game,” he commented after a slight delay, prompting Yinuo to wonder how much wine her brother had indulged in, though she refrained from voicing her concern. Her brother continued, “That’s when Danbei and I finished off General Lei’s baijiu. Though he sent another bottle, and that’s what we’re having now.”

“Danbei gave you the general’s gift?”

“He’s sharing them. Danbei’s received at least a few cases of fine baijiu. We’re not going to finish them before the end of the wedding.”

“He’s very generous,” Yinuo said.

“Poor General Lei, he doesn’t realize that Danbei only politely drinks when his brother asks him,” Weixin said. Yinuo felt his forehead with the back of her hand.

“Don’t drink so much, brother. Savor it.”

“You sound like Danni,” he protested, sipping his drink and closing his eyes. Ever the general—except for his cheeks; they were pink and felt good against her skin. Her brother rarely permitted himself such enjoyment. Here at home, it was a good place to replace some freedom.

“What do I have to do to earn that smile?” Cuilin whispered.

“Excuse me?” Yinuo turned to him, carefully lowering her hand.

“I-um,” Prince Cuilin averted his eyes, his own cheeks coloring. “You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he murmured.

Don’t do this, Yinuo, she told herself. Get up and walk away now before he hurts your heart. Before you grow attached to him. “I should really get going. I’m sorry for staring at your scars and if I made you self-conscious.”

“Wait, please stay. I wouldn’t mind.”

“I should go,” Yinuo said, offering a half-smile. “Weixin will have another round with you, my prince, if he doesn’t fall asleep before then.”

“Please stay,” he whispered.

Yinuo glimpsed at her brother, who appeared sound asleep, his arm propped gently on his knee. Whether he was pretending or not, she couldn’t tell, but his breaths were even. This would be the most alone she could be with Prince Cuilin. A moment was all she needed to confirm if he was Dehai, but being here, Yinuo couldn’t make the decision. She thought she was ready, but didn’t want to know the pain the truth would have.

“Prince Cuilin,” Yinuo began, casting her eyes down. Folding her hands properly in front of her and avoiding his sky eyes, she spoke to him. “Be honest with me. Why did your father propose marriage before it was appropriate?”

There was a pause, and then another; Yinuo lifted her eyes to his, searching for truth when she only saw hesitation. She shook her head and said, “You don’t want to marry me. My heart is as withered as a peony, its decaying heads too transient to make an impact.” She rose from kneeling, but abruptly stopped.

Weixin grabbed her arm, tugging her down to her knees again, “Wait, meimei,” he ordered. Looking up through the haze, her brother shook his head and stretched. He tilted his cup and looked at it solemnly. “It would be rude to leave before the round is finished.”

“The round is finished, brother. Sile went to get a new bottle.”

Weixin scrunched up his face and then flopped back on his cushion, facing the ceiling. “I’m going to nap until he gets here. Keep the prince company,” he mumbled, then promptly drifted off once more.

“Weixin?” Yinuo’s plea went unheard. She then turned to her empty cup with an awkward smile. “I...”

“Don’t wake him,” Cuilin said.

Yinuo hesitated, her lips parting slightly as she glanced up again. “I...” but she stopped herself. Without prompting, Cuilin stood, his movements slow and deliberate. There was no limp, but she recognized the struggle in his body language. Whatever he suffered, pain or even fatigue, the prince carried himself with a regal grace. He didn’t even grimace, but Yinuo saw, or more, she felt it as she observed his body language. Leaning on the rail behind him momentarily, Prince Cuilin took careful steps past her and the sleeping Weixin, pausing only when he reached the stairs.

“Is it me?” he said softly, “Is my title as’ hostage prince’ making you uncomfortable?”

“It is not that,” she replied without bothering to face him. Yinuo stood, gave a bob, and stepped past the steps. She skipped the last one and was on her way when she felt a slight tug at the back of her sleeve. Looking, Prince Cuilin had her jacket pinched between his fingers in a last attempt to keep her.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” she whispered.

Cuilin stayed his hands, a look of defeat on his face. “This isn’t how I imagined things going.”

“Did you imagine my father would agree?”

“I merely wished to be the first to express my interest.”

Caught by him, Yinuo tried to form the prince into the boy from her memory, but even if she could, it was hard to picture it all in her head. What changes would the boy have gone through to look like the man before her? She wanted him to fit the mold, but it hurt, too. It hurt to look upon him and pretend that her friend was standing in front of her. Suddenly, all Yinuo wanted was for him to let go.

It must have shown in her face, because he recoiled his hand and brought it to cover the slight blush at his scarred cheek. “Are you—“she stopped herself, “Who are you?”

“Prince...Cuilin of Zhuo,” he stated, a coldness seeping into his words. Almost to the point that Yinuo didn’t believe him.

“In the future, please do not be so forward. It places us both in an awkward position.” Her heart beat at her, almost in protest of her intense tones. She bit her lip and forced herself away from him, breaking into a run as she battled her urge to apologize. Why? What did she have to apologize for? She wasn’t the one crossing boundaries. One moment, he felt so indifferent, and the next, he made her feel foolish.

Meanwhile, Prince Cuilin’s eyes never left her, though, even when she passed the corner and exited the northern pavilion. Abruptly, Weixin sat up and brushed his cheek. He let out an audible sigh. “What am I going to do with you, friend?” he asked. The only alcohol left in his cup was barely residue of the sweet liquor once there. Weixin dipped his tongue into the rim and licked the last sharp drop. Rising to his full height, he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, shaking his head in disappointment. “You lost your chance, friend.”

“I’ll replace another one,” he responded quietly as if the desire wasn’t permitted of him.

“Don’t hesitate next time,” Weixin advised before removing his hand from Cuilin’s shoulder and walking off the steps.

“I have to replace another one,” Prince Cuilin whispered; the urgency in his voice bore at desperation, leaving Weixin to raise an eyebrow and catch his neck from turning. He returned his focus forward instead of addressing the prince. Weixin knew his intentions were pure, even if it seemed Cuilin was on the path to doing something very foolish.