stand beside the table. ‘You would be expected to know how to read as well as write.’
‘But will anyone be sending me letters once I reach Khitan?’
She watched him as he struggled for an answer. ‘The imperial court might send messages on occasion,’ he replied.
‘Wouldn’t that be handled by ambassadors or someone more important?’
She didn’t mean to be so contrary, but it seemed that she had just managed to climb one hill to find an even higher mountain beyond it. Fei Long’s presence made her more nervous. While travelling together, they had begun to form a fragile familiarity, but he’d become distant again since their arrival in the capital.
‘I might be expected to send you occasional messages as your brother,’ he argued.
Only to uphold the deception. Loneliness swept over Yan Ling. She had no one to exchange letters with. No one would care what happened to her once she left the borders of the empire.
‘Let’s begin then,’ she deflected.
‘We’ll start today with basic brush strokes.’
Fei Long described the process for making ink from the charcoal stick while she listened intently. Instruction always seemed to ease the tension from him. It was a ritual with expected roles and outcomes: teacher and student. She poured a few drops of water from a vial into the well of the ink stone. Then she ground the stick in small circles until the water became onyx black.
‘The way you hold the brush is very important for proper technique.’
He handed her the brush. Her fingers curled clumsily around the delicate bamboo shaft.
‘Press your thumb here. Curve your first finger.’
His steady hands enclosed hers and a ripple of warmth besieged her. The next breath lodged in her throat and she grew still, at a loss at what to do.
They had touched before. They must have every time she handed him something or he’d helped her onto the horse during their journey. Yet when Fei Long’s hands moved gently over her fingers to position them, her heartbeat skipped.
‘Don’t grip it too tight. Now hook your middle finger around here,’ he continued, unaware of how her pulse quickened beneath his touch.
‘Keep the brush straight as you execute the brush strokes.’ His voice was low, confident. Sensual without meaning to be as it pierced deep to fill her. ‘More control that way. Understand?’
She nodded mutely, afraid to speak. He’d been nothing but Lord Chang up until then, her disapproving task master. This rush of feeling was unacceptable. She swallowed as he moved away from her.
‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked.
Wrong? The brush held fast in her hand and she didn’t move a finger.
‘No, my lord. I…I must be more tired than I thought I was.’ She was ashamed for making such an excuse, but she was more ashamed of the heat swimming through her. It would pass.
His tone hardened behind her. ‘As you mentioned, we have only two months. Not much time.’
She kept her head down. If she looked up, he would certainly be able to see everything revealed in her face. ‘I can continue,’ she said apologetically.
‘Good.’
He took the brush from her and stood to her right. She shifted aside in the chair to give him space. Suddenly, she’d become aware of everything about him: his wide shoulders and how close his arm came to hers. The rustle of his robe as he moved. She watched, transfixed, as Fei Long dipped the tip of the brush into the oily blackness of the ink, swirling to remove the excess. He then braced a hand against the lower corner of the paper and brushed a single dot over the pristine white paper.
‘Diăn,’ he declared. The next stroke was a short horizontal one below it. ‘Héng.’
He continued, calling out the name after each stroke. A bold downward stroke, followed by a hook. Then a series of slanting marks to the side. There was confidence and strength in each movement. Eventually a single character emerged. She stared at it, uncomprehending.
‘Forever,’ Fei Long said.
‘Forever,’ she repeated softly, trying to imprint the character in her mind. The shape of it held mysterious power.
‘There are eight basic strokes that make up “forever”.’ He broke down each stroke separately on the paper, moving from right to left in perfect even spaces. ‘It is important to master each one from the beginning.’
He placed the brush back into her hand. She knew she was gripping it too hard again as she dipped it into the ink stone, but it was the only way to keep her hand from shaking.