Chapter 2: The Vermilion String
1227 Words
The vermilion string was the color of blood.
Wen Shuyan found it on his pillow at nightfall. No note. No sound. Just a single red cord, looped in a circle, lying on the rough linen like a snake.
His room was in the servant’s quarters. West side. Damp walls. One window. Only three people could enter without knocking: the head eunuch, the guard captain, and...
Shuyan’s hands started shaking.
He didn’t touch it. He stood three steps away, staring, like it might bite.
Vermilion strings were for marriage. For betrothal. For “this person is mine under heaven and law.” Merchants tied them on wrists during the Lantern Festival. Soldiers gave them before war. Lovers gave them before bed.
A servant did not own a vermilion string. A servant who touched one was beaten for “reaching above his station.”
A servant who got one from the Crown Prince was killed.
Article 17. Cut into eight pieces at the market.
Shuyan sat on the floor. Drew his knees up. Hid his face.
He should burn it. Throw it in the latrine. Pretend he never saw it.
But his traitor eyes kept looking.
It was fine. Soft. New. The ends were singed so they wouldn’t fray — someone had done it carefully, with a candle.
“If you ever spill ink on me again... do it when the doors are locked.”
Shuyan pressed his fists to his eyes. His ears were on fire. He could still feel Yichen’s breath on his wrist from this morning. “So it’s mine to see.”
He was going to be sick.
---
One hour later.
He touched it.
Just one finger. The tip.
It wasn’t hot. It wasn’t a blade. It was just... string.
But when his skin met the red, his whole body remembered: Yichen’s thumb on his pulse. Yichen saying his name. Yichen kneeling.
Shuyan yanked his hand back and burst into tears. Again. He was so tired of crying. Servants didn’t cry. But today he’d cried twice, both times because the Crown Prince was kind.
He was going to die of kindness.
He picked the string up. It weighed nothing. It weighed his whole life.
Try it, said a voice in his head. It sounded like death.
No, said another voice. It sounded like Yichen.
Shuyan looked at his wrist. Thin. Scarred from hot pots and ink stones. Ugly.
The Crown Prince’s wrists were broad. Calloused from bows. They wore jade.
Shuyan tied the string on himself.
His fingers were so clumsy it took four tries. He couldn’t breathe the whole time. When the knot caught, he stared at it.
Red on skin. Like blood. Like marriage. Like claim.
He made a sound — that broken whimper from this morning — and tried to rip it off. The knot was too tight. His nails scrabbled. He couldn’t get his fingers under it.
“Stupid,” he hissed at himself. “Stupid, stupid—”
The door opened.
Shuyan didn’t even have time to hide his wrist. He just froze. Like a rabbit before the hawk.
Xiao Yichen stood there.
He wasn’t in court robes. He was in black, no crown, hair half-down like he’d come from the training yard. There were guards outside. Shuyan could see their shadows. But Yichen was alone in the doorway.
He looked at Shuyan on the floor. Then his eyes dropped.
To the wrist.
To the vermilion string.
The air left the room.
Shuyan tried to stand. His legs didn’t work. He tried to bow. He fell sideways. He tried to speak. Only a stutter came out: “Y-y-your Highness I — I didn’t — it was on the p-pillow I—”
Yichen stepped inside. Pulled the door shut behind him.
Shuyan’s heart stopped. Closed door. Article 17. They were both going to die now.
Yichen walked forward. Slowly. Like Shuyan was a deer that would bolt. He knelt again. Always kneeling. The Crown Prince should never kneel to a servant.
He didn’t touch Shuyan. He just looked at the string.
“You put it on,” Yichen said. It wasn’t a question. His voice was rough. Not Jade Frost. Something underneath.
Shuyan shook his head frantically, tears starting again. “I w-was taking it off! I s-swear to heaven, I was—”
“Don’t lie to me.” Still not angry. Worse. Hurt. “You think I’d give you something you didn’t want?”
Shuyan couldn’t answer. Because he did want it. And that was the crime.
Yichen reached out. One finger. Just one. He hooked it under the string. Not touching skin. Just the red.
Shuyan stopped breathing.
“Do you know what this means, Shuyan?” Yichen whispered. “In the villages. In the army. Among men who can’t marry.”
Shuyan nodded once. A tiny jerk. His ears were scarlet. “It means... m-mine.”
“Say it.”
Shuyan sobbed. “I can’t. If I say it, they’ll kill me.”
“They’ll kill you if you don’t say it,” Yichen said, “because I’ll go mad.”
Shuyan stared at him. The Crown Prince. The Jade Frost. Eyes were dark, wild, nothing cold about them now.
“Yichen,” Shuyan whispered. Not ‘Your Highness’. The name.
Yichen’s whole body shuddered. Like Shuyan had shot him.
He took Shuyan’s wrist. Finally. Skin to skin. His thumb covered the vermilion string. Hiding it. Claiming it.
“You put it on,” Yichen said again. This time it sounded like prayer. “So you keep it on. Until I take it off myself.”
“When?” Shuyan’s voice was tiny.
“On our wedding night.”
Shuyan made a noise like he’d been stabbed. Because that was illegal. Impossible. Death.
Yichen leaned forward. Forehead to forehead. No kiss. Just breath. Just sharing air like it was the last they’d get.
“Don’t cry,” Yichen murmured. “Please. I can’t stand it when you cry.”
“I c-can’t help it,” Shuyan sobbed. “Y-you’re going to get me k-killed and I—”
“Then we die together.”
Shuyan’s eyes flew open.
Yichen pulled back one inch. Enough to look at him. “Article 17 says the lesser is cut into eight pieces. I’m the Crown Prince. That makes me the lesser if I claim you.” He smiled. It was awful and beautiful. “So I’ll be the one on the market block, Shuyan. Not you.”
Shuyan grabbed Yichen’s sleeve. Not meaning to. Too scared to think. “Don’t say that! Don’t—”
A voice from outside. Low. Measured.
“Your Highness.” Commander Pei, head bowed beyond the door. “This subject reports. Her Majesty the Empress Dowager demands your presence.”
Yichen didn’t move for three heartbeats. He just stared at Shuyan. At the string. At Shuyan’s hand fisted in his sleeve.
Then he stood. Mask on. Jade Frost.
He looked down once. “Hide it.”
Shuyan nodded, crying still.
Yichen opened the door. Left.
Shuyan sat there until his legs worked. He pulled his sleeve down. The vermilion string was hidden.
But his skin was burning underneath.
He didn’t know Commander Pei had seen. Through the cracked door. The string. The hands. The forehead touch.
And Pei served the Empress Dowager first.
- Writer
