It was six weeks before Bao Zhu visited the nunnery.
She waited for an excuse—a delivery of herbal supplies or perhaps a request for diagnosis from the abbess—but in the end, she simply walked there one morning, following the path as it wound through the winter-bare groves of hawthorn and pine.
The nunnery was smaller than she'd expected. Its walls were patched with clay, the roof sagging at one corner. In the center of the courtyard, a pair of women knelt, pulling weeds from the frost-crusted soil. One was tall and stooped, the other so thin that her shadow barely cast a mark.
Bao Zhu recognized Mei Hua immediately, though the transformation was almost complete. Her head had been shaved, revealing the strange shape of her skull. Her hands were raw and cracked, the knuckles dark with old and healing bruises. She moved slowly, with the care of someone who expected every moment to be her last.
Bao Zhu waited until the other woman left, then approached.
Mei Hua looked up, then back down. "If you're selling medicine, I have no money."
"I'm not here to sell anything, Mei Hua," said Bao Zhu.
Mei Hua raised her gaze gradually, a fleeting spark of recognition rendering her momentarily silent. Then she managed, "Yu Lian..."
Mei Hua crumpled to the ground and stared blankly at the vegetable garden she had been tending. Bao Zhu sat down across from her, her gaze not leaving her former friend's bowed head. They sat in silence for several seconds.
After a moment, Mei Hua's voice broke the stillness, hesitant yet filled with regret. "Why did you do it? All of it—the letters, the rumors, the...everything..."
Bao Zhu met her gaze with unwavering resolve. "Because you destroyed my life. Because you took away my daughter and made her suffer. Because you beat me and reveled in my suffering."
Mei Hua shook her head slowly, her features etched with sorrow. "No, that's not the whole truth. I envied you, yes. I hated that you had him when I could only watch from the shadows. But..." Her voice faltered as her hands dug deeper into the soil, seeking solace in the earth. "I thought if I tried hard enough, I could claim what you had for myself."
Bao Zhu studied her old friend, taking in the rawness of her skin and the emptiness in her gaze. For a fleeting moment, she felt the stirrings of the old Eric—a part of her that remained detached, able to observe suffering without being consumed by it. "You loved him?" she asked.
Mei Hua let out a bitter laugh, a sound tinged with self-loathing. "I thought I did. Perhaps I just craved to be chosen, for once."
Rising to her feet, Bao Zhu brushed dirt from her back, the motion signaling a shift in their conversation. "We were friends once, as girls."
Mei Hua looked up, tears shimmering in her eyes, a mix of remorse and the faint spark of recognition illuminating her features. "I remember," she said, her voice trembling like the fragile leaves in the winter breeze. "You were my protector, always standing between me and the older girls when they sought to belittle me. You taught me how to decipher the subtle shifts in men's expressions, how to anticipate their desires before they even spoke. I never forgot those lessons or the warmth of your friendship."
Her gaze dropped to the frost-dusted ground, as if searching for the remnants of the bond they once cherished. "I'm so sorry for what I did to you, Yu Lian. For the pain I inflicted, for striking you. I was blinded by jealousy—consumed by the life you had, your child, your family. I forgot who I was, forgot who we were..." The confession was thick with regret, echoing the lost innocence of their youth.
Bao Zhu felt the heat of old shame and anger, but also something else: a ghost of the affection that had once bound them together.
"Does it still hurt?"
Lady Zhao shrugged. "Less than previously. The work is honest, the food is plain, the nuns mind their own business. I dream of nothing. It's peaceful."
Bao Zhu nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
She reached into her satchel and drew out a packet of dried orange peel and some Chuan Xiong, tied with a blue string. She set it on the ground between them.
"For the headaches," she said. Bao Zhu—Yu Lian—had treated Mei Hua's headaches with herbs since they were young girls. She had no idea why she had brought these along; wasn't she supposed to be gloating over her friend and not treating her ailments?
Mei Hua picked it up, fingers trembling. "Thank you," she whispered.
Bao Zhu nodded and walked away, through the bare trees and back to the city.
On the long walk home, she turned the memory over and over, like a stone in her hand. She thought of all the things she might have said: I forgive you. I hate you. We were both victims of the same game. But in the end, the only words that mattered were the ones she'd left unspoken.
