THIRTY-NINE
She was so pretty, Yi's heart sang when he first beheld her. Maybe even beautiful, though it was hard to tell with her face smudged in soot. Her white robes were every bit as fine as those worn by the mistress of the house, though Yi fancied hers curved more at the chest than the older woman's did.
If this was Mao's sister, he would knock Yi down for thinking of her breasts. If the girl was Mao herself...would she knock him down or let him touch them? He caught himself smiling at the thought, and tried to smother it quickly. Not soon enough, though – the girl had seen, and it lit a furious fire in her eyes.
She repeated the same story the other woman – Jing? – had told him, of Mao breaking his neck in a fall. That Yi could not believe. No one could recover from a fall quit
