A Song to Drown Rivers

When men say they want a lover, what they often mean is they want a mirror; they wish to see themselves reflected back at them in the best light.

How ironic it was, that when we were apart, all i wished for was to be with him. Yet as soon as we were reunited, all we did was tell each other to leave.

When the hares have all been caught, the hunting dogs are cooked.

I will meet you again in every lifetime there is.

How many women throughout history were blamed for the weaknesses of men? We made such convenient scapegoats. We were raised to be small, to be silent, to take whatever we were given and no more.

In a world where everyone will demand something from you, it requires a certain degree of selfishness to be happy, you know.

In reality we were just two mortals, bound by our respective roles in history, and whatever flickered between us felt so terribly fragile compared to the immovable weight of mountains, of kingdoms, of war.

Please,” he said. “There cannot be nobody else but you.

The mind destroys, the heart devours.

But what is desire?" "Absence," I said after some thought.

Fanli. Flesh of my heart, light of my sun. He was here, in the enemy kingdom.

The men fight for their thrones and their power and their legacies, but to them, we are nothing more than crickets and ants, insignificant, expandable...What does it matter who wears the crown, if they will not change any of this for us?

I used to dream of changing the world. Of working for the greater good. But what good is the world," he asks, "if she is gone?

His eyes fluttered open, focused on me; it was how he had looked at me in all our time together, across the palace rivers, across the polished floors of his chambers, underneath the moonlight. no matter where we were, he was always the first one to spot me, always the last to look away. as if afraid that i would disappear at any moment, like smoke in the breeze. as if he knew that one day, he would run out of time, out of chance.

And how many people under Heaven were really fortunate enough to know happiness? Happiness was a side dish, like the sweet, sticky rice cakes Mother made during the festivals, or the glutinous balls stuffed with rich sesame paste. But revenge—that was the salt of life. Necessary.

They say that when I was born, all the wild geese flew down from the sky, and the fish sank beneath the waves, having forgotten how to swim. Even the lotus flowers in out gardens quivered and turned their heads away, so ashamed they were of their own diminished allure in my presence.

But a hero to many was still a villain to one.

The men will fight for their thrones and their power and their legacies, but to them we are nothing more than crickets and ants, insignificant, expendable. We will continue to worry over the rice and soy sauce and oil, three meals a day, how to escape the cold in the winter and the heat in the high summer, the holes in the roof and the bedding and the taxes. What does it matter who wears the crown, if they will not change any of this for us?

Later, though, I would wish I had stayed longer. Woken them up, held them close. Given them the chance to say a proper goodbye. But such things only occur to you in hindsight, framed by the before and after of everything you’ve endured; when it is still happening, all you care about is what lies ahead.

Have you not heard that the loveliest flowers are usually the first to be plucked? Your beauty is dangerous—to others, but also to yourself.

Nothing. Nobody, just—” You was what I meant to say. What had been poised on the tip of my tongue. But what came out was, “Fanli.

So long as we continue to put mortal men on thrones and hail them as gods

So this is how it feels to be cut by own blade

She has only ever cared for peace. She did everything right. She is the best of every man and woman. She would not be a threat to you.

Love,” she repeated slowly, in a tone veering toward contempt. “Girls like me are not made for love; we are made to be wanted.

Yes, well. One cannot save the world and live in peace. That’s not how these things work.

They must have been from noble families; only the wealthy could show such joyous carelessness in an age of war and instability. They assumed their money protected them from everything. The ultimate injustice was that sometimes it did.

History seemed to be holding its breath, gazing down upon us.

Happiness was a side dish, like the sweet, sticky rice cakes Mother made during the festivals, or the glutinous balls stuffed with rich sesame paste. But revenge—that was the salt of life. Necessary. Essential.