“In the blink of an eye, how did you manage to get Zheng’er out of this room to fetch something?”
“You—” Bai Sheng was cut off by the retort, cheeks flushing. If she wasn’t hard of hearing, she had a terrible memory; Bai Zheng’s tongue was positively poisonous. Still, there was a kernel of truth in it. It was only a cup of hot tea—if she didn’t want it, she didn’t have to fetch it. As long as she stayed in the room, there would be plenty of opportunities.
Bai Zheng drew a breath, settled her temper, and forced a smile. “You have a point. Big sister forgot that.” She turned to the purple-clad maid. “Go bring it, then.”
The girl in purple bristled but also seemed wary of Bai Sheng; grudgingly she bowed her head and answered, “Yes,” and slipped out of the room.
“Uncle, wait a moment—the hot tea will be here in a moment.” Bai Zheng smiled and spoke in a honeyed tone, as if soothing Bai Yizhang. The general only huffed through his nose in reply.
He reclined against the soft pillows, covered with a thin blanket, half-sitting in bed. Bai Sheng had appropriated the lone chair and was idly examining her nails. Bai Zheng, left standing, watched the scene with an easy composure. Her hands were folded; her fingers turned slightly, scanning every corner of the room with casual eyes. When Bai Sheng glanced sideways at her, Bai Zheng met the look without shame or guilt—only a serene smile.
The maid returned, tray in hand. On it sat a porcelain cup—large, almost bowl-sized, plain in design. Bai Zheng’s eyes brightened the instant she saw it. This wasn’t an ordinary cup. It had no handle. It brimmed with steaming water, hotter than the cool bowl Bai Zheng had poured earlier: clearly boiling.
No one really intended for the general to drink that. The expression on everyone’s face made that obvious.
The maid set the tray down and, head bowed so her disdain wouldn’t show, offered, “Third Miss, the tea is ready.”
Bai Zheng flicked a look at Bai Sheng. Bai Sheng returned the signal with an encouraging, dazzling smile. “Go on, Zheng’er. Now’s your moment to shine.” Her eyes said, Do it.
Bai Zheng’s smile hardened inwardly into a cold chuckle, but her face betrayed nothing. She reached a hand for the tray.
“It might be awkward for the Third Miss to carry the tray while she’s serving the general,” the maid said, her grip tightening on the tray. “Let me hold it for you.”
Bai Zheng didn’t try to snatch it away. She let the woman’s fingers clench the wood with the courtesies of a practiced courtier. “You’re going to get tired holding it that way,” Bai Zheng said lightly. “I’m always so clumsy—I might burn you when I lift the cup.”
“It’s my duty,” the maid replied.
Bai Zheng’s gaze fell to the maid’s exposed wrist where, as the sleeve had slipped back with the effort of holding the tray high, a string of beads caught the light. Beads of red and green—agate mixed with jade—each bead nearly identical, smooth and round. They shimmered softly as Bai Zheng’s eyes passed over them.
A slyness slid across her expression. She didn’t move, only watched the maid’s fingers beginning to strain. “If you keep holding it like that the tray will wobble,” Bai Zheng observed. “Why don’t you put it on that little table over there? That way no one gets burned when someone lifts the cup.”
The maid remembered how deftly Bai Zheng had handled a cup earlier and flinched inwardly. She hurriedly set the tray on the small table as if escaping a trap.
At that, Bai Sheng sprang to her feet and backed as far from the table as the room would allow, every muscle poised as if Bai Zheng might douse her with boiling water at any second. The performance was blatant.
Bai Zheng, unruffled, moved toward the table. The maid, having just set the tray down, let out a small breath and began to step away.
“Leave it there—and you’d better stand back as well,” Bai Zheng said, but her hand moved quicker than her voice. The maid’s fingers had barely released the tray when Bai Zheng’s hand darted in to take the cup.
For a moment the maid thought, When did the Third Miss get so considerate? Then her hand recoiled—just as Bai Zheng’s brushed the maid’s wrist.
A clear clink sounded. Something dropped into the steaming cup.
The single sound was followed by others—the delicate, ringing clatter of beads scattering. The maid froze, eyes widening as beads slipped from her wrist and tumbled, a little stream of red and green, into the hot water and then across the stone floor. The beads skittered and rolled, chiming against tile.
“My string of red-and-green beads!” The maid staggered, her voice cracking as color rushed to her face. She remained rooted above the cup, staring down. Two or three beads bobbed in the tea, their smooth surfaces glossy against the steam. They lay there, oddly small and helpless amid the boiling vapor, and in the hush they seemed to whisper, as if pleading: “Save me…save me…”