At the Imperial Zoo, in the capital, with Mother, and with Sister. The sky is dyed pink by evening, or by memory; pink like the inside of a alligator's mouth. Probably because the alligator enclosure was just before this, You thought. The stars are visible—they are always visible in the skies of the capital. Sister eats peanuts from a cone of paper as she leans over the railing to the the bear enclosure. Mother is in her wheelchair, eating souvia on a stick from the street vendor—who ate souvia in the capitol?

Sister watches the bear—the bear is in a large metal tub, washing itself. "It's taking a bath," she laughs. "He's just like, a big guy!"

You'd yet to show her the difference between a person and an animal. Or had You? It was too hot to remember. It was the wet heat you got deep into the Lotus Month—the wet heat of a kiss, or a knife slipped between the ribs. But when You looked up, the stars said it was the intercalary month—the nowhere between years. The stars were not known to be liars. Your clothes clung to Your body, stuck to You with sweat.

Footsteps. You expect it to be Hạnh. Or It. Instead it's someone with the face of a noble. The kind eyes of a farmer. The corner-of-the-mouth smile of a thief. They come to a stop before Sister. "Sun Jin!" Their voice is as gorgeous as their face. They bow in acknowledgement of You and Mother. 

Sister was breathless, for some reason. "Bai De! I thought you were going to meet me by the monkey exhibit!" She turns, sheepish, unable to hide her grin. "Mother, this is Bai De, I told you about them. Bai De, this is my mother, Gui Chen Yu, and my b——, L—." 

Bai De bows deeply to Mother, and to You as more of an afterthought. Polite, but not overly traditional. Sister knew how to pick them. They have a little discussion that does not really include You, only recognizing Your clothes in passing and Are You a student at the Academy and Oh what track are You in and Ah Spirit is tricky I hear, my sister's girlfriend was in Spirit and you can't really cultivate the same way as with Elemental but now she's a tongji for the court and how kind the god she hosted was and what an honor it was, of course. Most of the conversation meandered about, how Mother had been a silk trader and that they were staying in the Capital with Grandmother. Never about Father, or home in the south. Mother was too clever and Sister was too savvy to bring him up. You were too shy to throw that particular bomb into the mix—You found Yourself looking into the bear enclosure as the bear finished his bath.

Bai De spoke fluent Bahk-wá but Sister insists we all speak Zhongxin-yán—Bai De teases her for how cute her accent is, and Sister blushes. Mother spoke eight languages and would translate for You when You stumbled shyly between the Imperial Southern Vulgar and Core Standard. Bai De was good-natured enough to simply let You speak Bahk-wá by the end, but Sister glowered at You and You found Yourself quieter and quieter in conversation. Soon she says, "Mother, can I go exploring with Bai De—they said they would show me the butterfly exhibit."

Mother accepts with a smile, of course, and Sister and her friend nearly jog away, holding hands. They stop for Sister to kiss them lightly on the cheek—even though she was shorter than You, she had to bend a bit to kiss the Imperial noble. Mother sighs, and says something about how cute they are. You said You hoped she wouldn't be so hurt when it ended. Mother scolded You. "Maybe Bai De will be the one for Sun," she says.

"Not if she introduces you by your maiden name," You said. Sister was embarrassed by her foreign hertiage, of Father mostly, and a little bit of Mother.

"She's just being careful. This is the capital. Bukian would give the whole game away." The game. That was how Mother referred to the fact that her husband was not a respectable Kushanese textile trader like her. That Father was an illegal practitioner of foreign magic, a dukun who spoke with spirits, unregistered with the government, that he spoke with the spirits of the dead and of the land for money. That his house was stolen, that his children's names were not chosen by an ancestor poem or literomancer, but had been stolen too, from dead men. Their family was as taboo as one could get in Imperial society. Sister didn't need to be brushing elbows with nobles, gorgeous or not.

You wheel Mother past the fish. She loved the karp—they were called Koi in the Dawn Shore, and moved like dancers in colored robes. You wondered idly how they would taste. You should not be here——the year of the Dragon——intercalary month, four thousand dead men——tossed little pellets into the pond to watch the fish eat. Mother looks like she's ready to get up from her wheelchair and——

You————Bukian Sun Jin———Soul. Dead men.

The Tiger pit was empty. It was deep in the ground, and filled with bamboo so dense that even if there were tigers there, they'd have been impossible to see. But You know it's empty—because I'm behind You—Four thousand. The bamboo in the tiger pit is just like Lanxin forest, near home—what did You find there?—rubbing idly at Your eye as a cluster headache forms while Mother explains why it was in poor taste to keep elephants there. 

There is a golden cage. The aviary. The birds are gone—they had been moved to the Imperial Palace, it was too hot to keep them in the zoo——Intercalary month——There is a golden cage. The birds are gone—the cage is domed, set into the earth. It was once dirt-floored inside the cage but now it's become overgrown, choked with vines. You heard the birds, and You heard It—nameless beast, god of Land—there is something inside the cage, on the grassy floor. It looks like a pile of wet clothes. You peer inside. A wedding cheongsam? 

There is a roar from—behind You—the tiger pit. You set the brakes to Mother's wheelchair and turn. You run. There is smoke coming from the tiger pit. Your head is pounding, the pain behind Your eye makes You wince. The Lanxin forest is burning, burning to nothing. The tiger pit is empty, except for a shrine—a shrine to You, beloved—for worship of a local god, blackened from smoke and fire damage.

She screams, Sister screams and calls out—behind You, again!——four thousand dead men——the summer heat, You are swimming in Your student robes. They are too big for You, they've never fit You. Mother's wheelchair is upturned on the ground, empty. You run through the Lanxin forest. The leaves cut You like knives. 

There is a golden cage. It's shrinking, it's——dead—dead m——pulling tightly around her. Sister reaches out from the bars as they pull against her like a net. The birds are screaming. It is so hot that they're dying. All around You hear the trees—they are laughing, beloved—her arm comes away in Your hand. It's cold. It's been dead for hours—You pulled the knife out of her neck—...attempt resuscitation, on the floor—what a waste of such a pretty dress—why can't You find her soul? Worthless, what was all that training for, the academy—just ask beloved, I'll help You—You call It—please, beloved, don't call it—And Thy meagre prize? I will consider—don't trust it beloved. it needs You, not...—smells of souvia. Who eats souvia here of all places?

You're on Your back, a knife sticking from Your neck. You felt it ruin the silk cheongsam, what a waste, She could have used it. With alterations, of course. She's straddled on top of You, blood is running from one of Her eyes. Her hand is gripping the knife in Your neck. You hear a tiger roaring outside so loudly that the windows rattle, and a bird chirping under the floorboards, and You wonder what sort of bird it is, and what it's doing inside. You hear Your heart stop. She rips the knife from Your neck and says something You can't hear. You taste blood. And souvia. Where is Her soul? Where is Yours?

"Good morning Liu," She says. You wake up.