Recruiting Xiangcui

The twilight hummed with a curious blend of anticipation and resignation. Chengyu's silhouette cut a steady path through the meandering streets, under eaves heavy with secrets, towards the lantern-lit facade of Madam Li's brothel. Inside, veils of incense smoke curled around him, carrying whispers from behind silk screens. His gaze searched, unwavering, until it found her.

There was Xiangcui, poised like a crane among peonies, dispensing medicine to a courtesan whose eyes were shadowed with illness. Her fingers moved with an alchemist's grace, grinding herbs with the precision of a poet choosing words. Around her, the air seemed to still, as if the courtesans held their breaths in reverence to her kindness.

"Is this going to hurt, Sister Xiangcui?" The courtesan's voice trembled like a plucked string.

"Only for a moment," Xiangcui reassured, her touch gentle as a lullaby. "Then you'll feel relief."

Chengyu watched, hidden in plain sight, noting how each courtesan gravitated towards Xiangcui's warmth. They spoke to her not as one would to a healer, but as to a confidant. What was it about her that pulled at the frayed edges of his own reserve? He couldn't quite grasp the thread of the thought before it slipped away.

He waited, patience a learned companion until she finished her ministrations. The courtesans dispersed like autumn leaves caught in a gentle breeze, leaving them in a pocket of quiet. Chengyu approached, footsteps deliberate on the polished wooden floor.

"Xiangcui," he said, his voice low enough to be drowned out by the thrumming erhus and pipas in the background.

She turned, surprise momentarily softening the lines of her face. "Chengyu? What brings you here at this hour?"

"Lord Hongli has assigned new missions," Chengyu began, the weight of responsibility settling onto his shoulders once more. "I need your help."

"New missions?" Her brow furrowed, curiosity piqued.

"Urgent ones. There's a sickness... Xiuqin is ill." His voice was steady, but inside, worry gnawed at him. "We need to find a cure."

"Xiuqin..." Xiangcui echoed, concern clouding her features. "Do we know what afflicts her?"

"Not yet," he admitted, eyes meeting hers with a silent plea. "But I believe together, we can uncover the remedy."

Xiangcui paused, considering the proposition. Chengyu could almost hear the cogs turning in her head, weighing the risks against the necessity. It wasn't just Xiuqin's life that hung in the balance; the very fabric of the court could unravel with her decline.

"Alright," she finally said, determination setting into her jaw. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow at dawn," Chengyu replied, heart buoyed by her acceptance. "We have little time to waste."

"Understood." She gave a curt nod, the healer once again overtaking the woman who stood before him.

"Thank you, Xiangcui. I—" He hesitated, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

"Say no more," she cut in, a small smile gracing her lips. "Let us prepare, for dawn waits for neither man nor mission. Come. I must retrieve my tools."

They traversed through the building, through narrow halls lined by sliding doors. Knowing what occurred inside, Chengyu kept his head down and whistled, shyly following Xiangcui to a room tucked into a corner.

Xiangcui opened the door and casually strolled inside. Chengyu followed.

A flickering lamp cast an amber glow on the apothecary jars lining the walls of her modest quarters, a sharp contrast to the dull ache that settled in Chengyu's chest. The scent of dried herbs and the faintest hint of orchids mingled in the air, wrapping around him as he lingered near the entrance.

She retrieved a bag from beneath her bed and began packing items away. The only sound was the clinking of glass. Unable to contain his sense of awkwardness, Chengyu soon took to pacing.

"Chengyu," Xiangcui began, her voice cutting through the silence that had fallen between them, "why not take Hua with you? His company seems… perpetual. He would enjoy an adventure, it seems."

He stopped mid-stride, turning to face her, the soft rustle of his silk robes betraying his inner turmoil. "Hua has many virtues," he said, choosing his words carefully, "but I think I've roamed enough roads with him to last a lifetime. Besides, his knowledge of medicine is rudimentary at best. If I'm attacked by some animal, i wouldn't trust him to be calm enough to save my life. He threw up when we saw a corpse back at the "

"Then we must make it more than rudimentary." Xiangcui's hands moved with purpose as she gathered vials and packets from the shelves, her movements as precise as the measurements she would take for her concoctions.

"Teach him?" Chengyu raised an eyebrow, skepticism tinging his voice.

"Exactly," she confirmed, placing the items on a low table. "We can instruct him in the art of healing. It would serve him well."

"Serve him or serve us?" Chengyu mused aloud, his gaze lingering on the deliberate precision of Xiangcui's fingers as they sorted the materials. A pang of doubt creased his brow. Could the boisterous Hua truly learn the delicate balance required for such a task?

"Both," Xiangcui replied without looking up. "He can tend to Xiuqin while we're away. And should we fail to return promptly..."

"Let's not entertain such thoughts," Chengyu cut in sharply, a shadow crossing his face. He couldn't afford to consider failure; too much depended on their success.

"Very well," Xiangcui acquiesced, though her eyes betrayed her concern.

"Are you confident in this plan?" Chengyu asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Confidence has little place in matters of life and death," she answered soberly. "But it's the best we have."

Chengyu exhaled slowly, the weight of their task pressing down upon him. "I don't wish to go alone," he admitted, allowing vulnerability to seep into his tone for a fleeting moment.

Xiangcui met his gaze, her own resolve mirrored in her eyes. "I'll go with you," she said, though her hesitance hung unspoken between them.

"Thank you," he murmured, his gratitude genuine. He turned toward the window, where the first hints of dawn were beginning to paint the sky with strokes of pink and orange. In the quietude of the approaching day, the world outside seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the sun to rise and set them on their path.

"Let us then prepare Hua for his new responsibilities," Xiangcui suggested, breaking the tranquil stillness.

"Indeed," Chengyu agreed, his mind already turning over the details of the journey ahead. As they left the cocoon of Xiangcui's quarters, the crisp morning air greeted them, tinged with the promise and peril of the unknown.

Chengyu's fingers hesitated on the ornate doorframe, his senses ensnared by the plaintive song of an erhu weaving through the air. The melody curled around him like a familiar scent, leading his gaze to where she sat in the corner. The courtesan's slender fingers danced across the strings with such grace that each note seemed to hold a secret.

"Leaving so soon?" Madam Li's voice, syrupy with insinuation, pulled him from his daze.

"Ah, yes," he stammered, his eyes still locked on the lady playing the erhu. Her presence was a soft glow in the dimly lit room, a solitary moonbeam in a night sky.

"Wait!" The word tumbled out before Chengyu could stop it. His feet carried him towards her as if they had their own will. "I—I'm going on a journey," he said, his heart pounding a rhythm that matched the erhu's tempo.

Her bow paused mid-stroke, and she looked up at him, a silent question in her wide, umber eyes.

"Would you—" Chengyu felt a blush creeping up his neck, "like a souvenir?"

The courtesan blinked, surprise etching delicate lines at the corners of her eyes. A nod, almost imperceptible, fluttered between them, and her cheeks bloomed with a gentle shade of rose.

"Of course, she would," Madam Li chuckled from behind, her laughter rich and knowing. "Perhaps you'd like to buy out her contract while you're at it?"

Although he tried to speak, no words came out. Heat scorched Chengyu's face as he turned on his heel, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape the mirthful teasing. He fled through the corridors of the brothel, the clack of his boots against the polished wood flooring hastening his departure.

Outside, the morning held a chill that did little to cool his embarrassment. Xiangcui fell into step beside him, her stride purposeful and measured.

"You know," Xiangcui said, amusement coloring her tone, "you still don't even know her name."

Chengyu's groan escaped into the crisp air. "I— It hadn't occurred to me."

"Shall I arrange for a proper introduction when we return?" Xiangcui offered, a playful glint in her eye.

"No," he said too quickly, then sighed. "That won't be necessary. You're starting to sound like Hua."

"Perhaps," Xiangcui teased, "but unlike Hua, I can see what's plain before my eyes, and since you promised, I shall hold you to the souvenir for her sake. If you don't fulfill that promise…" She held up a shaky fist.

Chengyu gulped, feeling the weight of her threat, as if the sun were in her eyes.

They walked in silence for a moment, the cobbled street beneath them leading away from the brothel and toward the unknown. Chengyu felt the weight of the journey ahead, a tightening in his chest that wasn't entirely from nerves.

"Xiangcui," he began, his words trailing off as he searched for what he meant to say.

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For agreeing to come with me." His voice was earnest, a stark contrast to the lighthearted banter that preceded it.

"Where you go, I follow," she replied, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Just promise me we'll return before the last leaf falls from the ginkgo tree."

"Before the last leaf falls," Chengyu echoed, making a silent vow.

The road stretched out before them, lined with trees that whispered secrets in the language of rustling leaves. And somewhere in the distance, the faintest echo of an erhu promised that there were melodies yet to be discovered.