Chapter 2.2: Faux Pas

In the Orchid Pavilion, the air was perpetually filtered through a haze created by the black-leaved maple trees and brilliant pink orchids, and these generous vegetations also concealed the Pavilion from prying eyes. It was here that Hun Chengde waited for the most beautiful woman of her generation. She would be graceful as a tidal wave, with eyes like falling stars against the face of the waxing moon...

Then Ceramic Dove arrived and interrupted his deliberations on the nature of beauty. "I couldn't find," she complained, "the Overcooked Pavilion, so I came here."

"Hm, what's that?"

"Never mind."

Ceramic Dove raised an eyebrow. "You look somewhat...unwell, Hun."

Leopard Sword frowned. "I was hoping you would bring your cousin." He shuffled. "You know, to protect your virtue."

"I wasn't aware."

"I should hope you weren't. I didn't tell you or anything."

"No, not that."

"What then?"

"Shall I tell you?"

"Please."

"I wasn't aware that my virtue needed my cousin's protection." Xiangling examined Chengde's vital points. The ones that she could see were visibly covered in shiny calluses indicating carefully cultivated internal strength, and possibly regular practice of the Iron Crab Viscera kung fu.

Chengde looked at the Pavilion. Xiangling was standing in the only door. "I'm sure it doesn't, Yan Xiangling, not from me." This was not the correct answer, he determined. It is often possible to tell such things when one is conversing with a maiden; when asked a question, the lucky man will reply well and witness joy suffuse her face like the rising sun, but the unlucky, or foolish, man will reply poorly, and witness something altogether less pleasant. It was this less pleasant thing that Chengde was observing just at this moment. In this particular case, it consisted of Xiangling's eyes—those cloudy pools of liquid jade—narrowing slightly, so they they changed to a darker and altogether more predatory green. It was the color of a hawk's eyes when it has first spied the rabbit.

Then Ceramic Dove embraced Leopard Sword and pressed her lips against his, hard. He smelled jasmine and Egyptian lotus on her, underlaid with that distinctly rare smell of heat and sand, the Foreign Blue Demon perfume. His face prickled with heat. His vision filled with ink-black hair, tangled, so tangled, and then he did not see anything at all.

Ceramic Dove let him go and slapped him. "We will see who does not need her virtue protected! Vermillion Sparrow is not the only beauty at Niaochao!"

Women were confusing, Hun Chengde decided. Maybe he should ask Chariot for advice. Chariot always seemed to have a good idea of what was going on. Yes, he would ask Chariot.