Two flames waved, smoke-blurred tips tracing indecipherable glyphs in the air — whatever secret message they intended went unread.
Twin tails waved, long and flexing like limbs, tapering to points yet riddled with tufts along their length. The bright orange shade might rival the candles for light, were they not dependent on it. The image was clearer, not wreathed in ghostly smoke — if only because Linghui Mei had still yet to awake senses fit to discern the spiritual tails waving among them.
She could feel them, of course; they were part of her. But weeks of meditation, had brought her no closer to seeing anything but the darkness of her eyelids. A tribulation seeming without end — but her master had asked this of her, so she would persist. (Monotomy alone she could stand — no, she had not survived this long with any impatience — but that damnable ringing tested her will. And she swore it was getting worse.)
But her master had asked this of her. Mei glanced across the room, ears above black hair rotating with her shifted attention. While Mei sat cross-legged on one of two beds, Qian Shanyi sat in the tavern room’s only chair.
She’d turned a simple table into an impromptu desk, papers splayed across the surface. Maps charting their course across the countryside, ledgers tallying expenses in taverns like this one, and at least one page dotted with the damnably cryptic shorthand her master retreated into in whatever matters were for her eyes only.
But, as if she’d run out of work to occupy herself — there were only so many times she could bare to recheck their plans — she’d taken out a book (no flourish at all the cover or binding), and moved her eyes over the pages. Mei flicked an ear at the sound of Shanyi slowly turning the page.
Mei stared Shanyi, and her master stared at the book. Mei had watched the cultivator study before, and her expression said enough. There was no smile of an thrilling read, nor that paradoxical scowl. (Apparantly, all Shanyi’s favorite reads left her with a look that, on Mei’s face, meant snarling down a threat to her life.)
No, this read left Shanyi blank, a look like watching sheep graze.
Shanyi’s eyes drifted down one page then the next, but as her fingers plucked the corner of the next page, brown eyes flicked up and an eyebrow illustrated her question.
“What is it?”
Mei bit her lip. “What are you reading, master?”
She folded the book up as if to check, before saying, “A manual on northern architecture and city layout. Picked it up at this shop, they had no novels, but I found this one at a discount, practically giving it away.”
“Ah. Was it… worth it?”
“It’s something to look through, at least.”
Mei glanced down. Opened her mouth, closed it to chew some words, then said, “I suppose you have nothing else to look at, master?”
Shanyi shrugged, eyes drifting back to the book, as if losing interest in the conversation, in her. And what competition.
What the other woman said was, “Well, I already read the last book I brought with me. It’ll suffice, at least to the next town.”
The jiuweihu’s eyes drifted further down — she saw nothing but Shanyi’s shadow. “Perhaps you could read it out?”
“Reread it? It’s only architecture notes, you aren’t missing anything.”
“No, I meant reading it out” — a sigh — “to me.”
“Like a child’s bedtime stories? Why? You can read.”
“What?” Something between a growl and a mere exhalation of breath. “Proper storytelling is childish to you?” It must be different for her, Mei knew. Shanyi could read all she cared for in books, she didn’t need someone to recite it all. But to imply it’s for children alone? Mei had just enough of a scowl the points of fangs could be spotted behind her lips.
The smallest smile had lighted on her master’s face — as if amused at her frustration. Typical.
“Recital makes plenty of sense with an audience, such as in a classroom, and of course when the information must be kept secret. But a cheap novel? It would be faster for you to read it yourself.”
“Faster, with but a faint echo of how the words should sound. I’m sure a cart travels faster with no load, as well.”
“Sound? Oh, don’t tell me you subvocalize everything you read?” Lips curling as she spoke, amusement evidence.
“Excuse me?”
“You imagine what it would sound like in your head?”
“Of course I do?”
Shanyi shook her head. “For the experienced reader, reading should be a purely visual activity. That’s the most basic principle of speedreading.”
“Like shoving food down your gullet without giving your tongue any chance to savor the taste or feel the texture.” A light blush had tinted her cheeks, but it was as much from exasperation, surely. “And from the sound of it is not even worth that rush.”
“Hm, you’re right. I should do my best to savor the dry descriptions of trellises and concrete-laying instructions.”
“If my master says it, it must be so.” Mei set her jaw. “I only wanted to offer you a suggestion to relieve you. You look so terribly bored.”
“I appreciate you looking out for me, at least. Thank you.”
That note of gratitude relaxed her, frown slipping away. She glanced back up and found hope enough for another try. “We could play some shatranj?”
“Hm, no. It’s late, Mei. The excitement from a game will just make it harder to get some rest. If anything, it’s for the best if reading this puts me to sleep.”
The jiuweihu’s shoulders sagged. “Right, I see. If you’re getting ready for bed, I could tie your hair up in the bun you usually sleep with?”
Shanyi’s frown only deepened. “No, I can do it just fine myself.”
“Very well.”
But her master’s eyes didn’t quite go back to her reading. Finally she watched Mei back, analysis writ in her gaze. She looked — peered — just as if there was something she couldn’t see.
“Are you the one who’s bored? Maybe I should give you that novel to borrow.”
Mei shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. I think… I’ll step outside. I’d like to take a quick walk before bed.”
Before setting her eyes back to the page, Shanyi nodded and only said, “Be careful out there.”