*

“Listen, Frenchie, as I said, it was a damn coincidence I stumbled upon your lil’ boy toy wandering. You can hardly blame me for snatching up what’s readily available! Hell, you should be thanking me, really!”

“And why’s that?”

“Well, for one, because he was about to get snatched up by some brigands! And I mean, the mean types with a real sadistic streak and penchant for naïve foreigners!”

“Are you sure you’re not speaking of yourself?”

“That’s different, missy. I’m a professional. Professionals have standards. With me, the worst that’ll happen is a temporary holiday to the basement. With others, he’d become a headline on the news.”

I sit in place, watching my would-be kidnapper describe her methods. Feeling quite dismayed by it all, I pluck a liquorice candy from the nearby tray, savouring its delightfully unique flavour.

“Thank you, Grandma, it’s very delicious.”

The elderly woman next to me nods. Having interrupted the brawl midway, she now sits as an out-of-place fourth wheel, eager to inspect it all. I take it she’s Suoma’s grandma, but to be honest, I don’t have a clue.

“And what of you, Earlene?” Ysabeau asks, looking in her direction. “For what reason do I find you in my company again?”

“For reasons of heroism, virtue, and all that is good, heh.”

“Heroism is a convenient little thing, isn’t it? One that motivates you to interrupt this crude deviant molesting Yunluo midway and not before.”

Suoma rises, her arms crossed in defence. “There was nothing ‘molesting’ about what I did!” she yells, “my magic only awakens people’s innermost desires, that’s all!”

Innermost desires? So back then, when I was relaying all that information… Did Suoma use some manner of hypnotism to get that out of me? If so, I hope not all Europeans can secretly do this!

“Spoken like a true perpetrator. The first step to redemption is acknowledging your faults. Are you aware?”

“I don’t need redemption! That’s for people who did something wrong; I’m innocent, you grubby blue-blooded Frenchie!”

These accusations finally stir something within. If what Lady Suoma said were true, I’d have a part to play in what happened. So, it’d be wrong of me to sit idly by and say nothing.

“I wouldn’t pin the blame on Suoma. I had made the unjust choice to wander aimlessly and put myself in this position in the first place.”

“...Very well.” Ysabeau’s voice is begrudging but soft. “I suppose, in the face of that sexual shrew, any normal teenage boy would find himself tempted. You can hardly be blamed for your nature.”

“It wasn’t sexual! I mean, who are you to judge?” Suoma points her finger like a blade. “I’m not the woman here with a fetish for dressing up cute boys in questionable outfits!”

“It’s for his own safety.”

“Safety my ass! Do thigh-high socks and pink ribbons constitute safety?! I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE!”

Her voice crescendoes into an outburst. Left wheezing and out of air, Suoma plops back down, looking at Ysabeau in distinct disapproval. In the midst of it all, silence takes reign, leaving us with an awkward, palpable tension.

“Xie Yunluo. Did I not ask that you call Étienne to accompany you?”

“You said to ask him if I need anything. I had not assumed going outside would fall under the purview of his duties. That, and what I need to do, is my burden to bear.”

“...We will discuss this later.”

Madame Ysabeau rises. As she does so, Earlene scoots on over, wrapping her arm around me.

“What’s the rush? The place is warm, there’s food on the side, and we’ve a merry band of five for company.”

“That’s hardly relevant. Yunluo is more comfortable in a subdued atmosphere, one in lack of anyone but myself.”

“Yunluo, or you, Madame de La Rue? Who is it, really, that craves quiet?”

“That’s quite enough,” replies Ysabeau, her brows furrowing. “Don’t forget, this isn’t England. Here, your titles mean nothing, and your position incurs only wrath. You are a stain—a residue of a backwater island made manifest in an unsightly little woman, keen on testing my patience time and time again.”

“Is that so? Because, as far as I’m c—”

“I’m sorry, Earlene.” I stand up, putting away her arm. “But, it’s not right to involve anyone else. Moreover, Madame Ysabeau has nothing to do with this. My issues are mine and mine alone.”

Finishing my statement there, I head to Ysabeau’s side. Then, following an exchange of stares, go outside the building. At once, the cold strikes me, sending a sudden chill down my spine.

“Madame Ysabeau. I apologise; it seems I disturbed your meeting with that woman. Even if it was by pure chance and stroke of miracle, please forgive me!”

Judging from the alchemical wares, I can only assume Madame Ysabeau was doing something particularly important. Should Suoma truly be a mage of some sort, then I can imagine her services being in high demand. That, and Madame Ysabeau had come there with the express intention of going alone, meaning my interference probably caused no shortage of trouble…

“I apologise again!”

“That’s quite alright.”

With those curt words, Ysabeau marches, strutting forward on the cobblestone streets. I follow after her, walking side by side.

“It’s cold,” she says, with an almost esoteric tone.

“Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

“Certainly! Whenever I get all cold, I’m reminded that all I need to do is move, and the heat will come flooding back.”

“I see.”

“The cold also makes eating warm food all the more joyous. There’s nothing quite like a Sichuanese hotpot on a frigid winter day.”

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

“Hotpot?”

“Imagine a large pot of boiling broth. Then, imagine dipping pieces of veggies and meat inside there, waiting for it to cook before…” I hold my hand in the air, holding an imaginary pair of chopsticks. “Voilà! You have something yummy to eat!”

We move under a large arch.

“This ‘hotpot’ of yours sounds a bit like a fondue bourguinonne.”

Noticing that Ysabeau’s replying with a sentence, I endeavour to sound even more cheerful.

“Then, I suppose we have something else in common!”

“Well. It’s not broth you dip the things in; it’s just oil. That, and you don’t eat it with vegetables, either. Just meat.”

“Differences in cultures keep things refreshing. It’d be boring if everything and everyone were the same, right? Harmony’s what matters, not uniformity!”

“Perhaps.”

Our walk continues. We brush past a street painter and into a relatively crowded road. Madame Ysabeau nestles against me, running her hand down my arm.

”Yunluo. Forgive me.”

”It’s alright, Madame Ysabeau.”

I don’t know why she’s apologising, but the sheer apathy and listlessness of her replies speak for itself. So, as a well-meaning friend, all I can do is support her in whatever way I can.

“Yunluo.”

Something soft touches my head. It takes a second, but I realise it’s Ysabeau. Now patting me as one would a child or pet.

“You’re a good boy, Yunluo.”

She pats me twice.

“Thank you, Madame Ysabeau. You’re a good lady, too.”

I’m not sure where the sudden shift in tone came from. Why Ysabeau looked almost a bit sullen when she said that. But all I know is that she cares—and for that, I’m happy.

”Also, Madame Ysabeau, are you not fond of gloves? I’ve noticed that you don’t tend to wear them.”

”It tends to feel… restraining.”

”Then, how about we hold hands? You’ve been eyeing mine for a while, and yours look shivering.”

”Hold hands?” She quickly turns to face me. “Is this normal where you’re from?”

”Only between girls who are good friends. But does it matter?”

I can’t put my hand on why, but I think hand-holding would make her happy. And, if not happiness, then why else do we live?

“I see.” Ysabeau’s voice has a sly edge, even if a tad forced. “What a forward boy you are, Yunluo. At the rate you’re going, we’ll be advancing to Phase Ten of our master-servant relationship in no time.”

“Um—Phase Ten doesn’t involve a basement, right?”

“No—it comes much, much before.”

In the end, Ysabeau takes up my offer, locking her hand with mine. Her grip proves firmer than expected. And her fingers, always moving and fondling, seem energetic if nothing else. Either all French people handhold this way or Ysabeau is just that cold.

Regardless, I try my best to help her warm up, moving my fingers to Ysabeau’s distinctly French rhythm.

“H-how lewd… I never knew you had it in you, Yunluo…”

“Hm?”

“Don’t worry. I just felt like commenting on the cute boy beside me, that’s all.”

Soon, we make it to the area of our living, that rich district of tall limestone buildings. It’s also here when I notice Ysabeau’s expression change, turning darker by the second. I become worried seeing it. I wonder if I’d done anything wrong.

“Do you hold me in contempt?” asks Ysabeau in a voice stronger than before.

Hold her in contempt? So, was Ysabeau’s mood shift not because of something I’ve done?

“What for?”

My question comes out both startled and awkward.

“I insulted your friend. That is cause for some ire, is it not?”

A friend? In that case, she must be referring to Earlene. While, sure, I didn’t enjoy Ysabeau being frustrated towards Earlene, it’s not like I can fault her in any due capacity. For all intents and purposes, she is an Englishwoman with a penchant for appearing in unexpected situations…

“The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. Insult and grievance often pave the way for the strongest friendships out there.”

My eyes meet Ysabeau’s, taking comfort in her gaze. Maybe it’s normal for anyone else to be frustrated, but I’m not sure. Compared to the grievances I’ve suffered, what’s one little misstep along the way?

“Your hopeful, endearing naïveté aside,” interjects Ysabeau, then turning to face me. “Remember this combination.”

Her fingers type a combination of numbers on the building’s metallic keypad. The iron door swings open, and we return back to the apartment. In the comfort and privacy of home, Ysabeau inhales at long last, making her way towards the kitchen.

“Wait in the living room.”

I do as instructed. Appearing after a minute, Madame Ysabeau comes with two glasses and a bottle of sparkling water. She sets them on the low table. Her features stiffen, becoming as dark as a mountain’s shadow.

“Madame Ysabeau. Is it customary to drink sparkling water in France?”

“At restaurants. In this case, I’m just unorthodox.”

She pours for two glasses, twirling as she lifts the bottle higher.

“As you may know, Xie Yunluo, I am no ordinary woman. Within this city, you could even say I’m an essential figure, that is one holding no middling of power. Knowing this, are you prepared to bear the sins of my ambition?

A half-breath later, I answer, “Of course.”

“Even if my sins involve the disparagement of others?”

“Should heaven and earth turn upside down, and the earth be torn asunder, I shall still serve.”

Loyalty and virtue. These are the two tenets any hero of the martial world strives for. Before that, anything and all else proves secondary—even one’s own life.

“I pledged once to you when I came and pledged again back home. Any friend of my Grandmaster is, by extension, a friend of the Snowcave Sect and I.”

Madame Ysabeau is silent for a minute or two, shutting her eyes in deep contemplation. Naturally, to a foreigner like her, my ideals must seem absurd. The basis of our morality is derived from different sources, after all, so it only stands to reason that discord may emerge.

“And when loyalties conflict? When the foundation for one virtue comes into dispute with another?”

“What could you mean, Madame Ysabeau?”

“Xie Yunluo. Are you aware of how I came to hold pictures of Chigetsu, that is, your Grandmaster’s murderer?”

Ysabeau leans forward, grabs a glass, and sips it slowly. As for her question, I honestly hadn’t given it much thought. Logically speaking, since Ysabeau is wealthy, she’d probably just hired some mercenaries to track her down, right?

Hm.

But that doesn’t add up. Why would Ysabeau do that? It was she who reached out to us, not the other way around. And if Grandmaster’s death was kept hidden, then why? Why would she send those pictures?

Either Chigetsu incurred a great deal of infamy to warrant it, or…

“Xie Yunluo. The reason I reached out to your sect is because Chigetsu asked me to.”

“What?”

She asked Ysabeau to?

“Did she hold you hostage? If so, I swear t—”

“No, Yunluo. It was because she worked for me and because I owed her a favour.”

“She…” I cut off there for fear of sounding like an idiot. Taking in this fact is enough to freeze me still, rendering me a straw puppet. Reconciling the image of noble Ysabeau with that of the fiendish woman who struck my Grandmaster down is difficult…

“Forgive me. I need a moment.”

Yet, I can hardly fault Ysabeau. She does not bear her employee’s crimes. Yes. She’s an innocent player in this whole affair. That much is true. I just need time, time, and more time to swallow that fact. Time, and time, and time, and time, and time, and time, and time, and time, and time, and time, and time, and time, and time, and even more time.

“Phoo.”

I cycle a series of inhales, hoping to quell my unreason.

“Madame Ysabeau. While I am a tad unnerved, know that I do not hold your character in poor judgement. Nothing has changed between us.”

The fair lady closes her eyes, downing a glass of sparkling water. I can tell, even now, that a string of tension guides her movements. That an unstated current swirls within, waiting to crash against the still-dry shore. So, I wait, biding my time for her inevitable opening, her answer that will end all my woes and worries.

“Very well.”

In the end, no soothing conclusion comes to be. Madame Ysabeau raises herself and nods in a gesture of leave-taking. Without so much as a goodbye, she then heads out once again, avoiding me altogether.

“...”

The sight of it renders my heart heavy. Have I done something to offend her? Did I mess up and infringe on some unspoken French sensibility?

No answer comes to mind. Assailed by a stringent of melancholy, I make for my room, proceeding to lie on the cold wooden floor.