"What would it be this evening?"
The waiter stood beside the table with a notepad tucked beneath one arm. The restaurant was comfortably busy, full enough for a constant murmur of conversation but never loud enough to force anyone to raise their voice. Warm light pooled beneath hanging lamps. Outside the windows, winter pressed against the glass.
Qiang finally lowered the book that had accompanied him through most meals.
"I would like some soup. Do you have any recommendations?"
The waiter brightened slightly.
"Mulligatawny Soup."
He folded his hands behind his back.
"It was first introduced from the west, but its origins are much older than the modern era. Some say as old as the era of the War of the Demigods. Its origins are still debated."
As the explanation continued, my attention drifted from the waiter to Qiang.
He was listening.
Actually listening.
His expression carried that familiar look he always wore whenever information threatened to become interesting.
I almost smiled.
"A plate of soup comes with a history lesson," I murmured.
The waiter somehow heard me.
"It is included free of charge."
Qiang chuckled.
"Then I'll have that. And whatever else you think pairs well with it."
The waiter gave a small nod before turning toward me.
"Ai, what would you be having?"
Qiang tapped the table lightly, pulling me back into the moment.
I blinked.
My thoughts had drifted somewhere entirely different.
Back to a chessboard.
Back to a single move.
A single mistake.
A single pawn.
A single moment that had turned a certain victory into a humiliating defeat.
"Something to cope with losing," I said dryly.
The waiter considered this with alarming seriousness.
"Perhaps a steak."
He tapped his chin.
"And an English Trifle afterwards."
I stared.
He stared back.
Apparently this was a legitimate recommendation.
"Then I'll have that."
The waiter nodded as though we had conducted a meaningful medical consultation before departing toward the kitchen.
The moment he disappeared, I leaned back in my chair.
Warmth settled around me. Plates clinked softly. Someone laughed near the window. A couple near the entrance debated something in low voices. The scent of roasted meat drifted through the air.
It should have been relaxing.
Instead, I was replaying move thirty-two.
Again.
And again.
And again.
"You're thinking about the game."
Qiang didn't even look up.
I frowned.
"Am I that obvious?"
"Yes."
I sighed.
The answer had arrived far too quickly.
Our food appeared shortly afterward.
Steam curled upward from Qiang's bowl. The scent was rich and unfamiliar.
He sampled a spoonful.
"A plate of history and mystery."
I rolled my eyes.
"Meat and sweets afterwards," I said as my steak was set down before me. "How sinful."
The knife slid easily through the meat.
I took a bite.
The outside carried a slight crispness. The inside was tender, warm, and comforting.
For a brief moment, I forgot about chess entirely.
Only for a brief moment.
"What did you think of the game?"
The question escaped before I could stop it.
Qiang paused halfway through another spoonful of soup.
"Your game with Victoria?"
"Yes."
He swallowed.
"It was interesting."
That was all.
I stared at him.
He continued eating.
I continued staring.
Eventually he sighed.
"You want a longer answer."
"I do."
"You lost."
I narrowed my eyes.
"I noticed."
"You had the better position."
"I noticed that too."
"You became impatient."
I leaned back.
There it was.
The real answer.
The one I already knew.
The one I didn't particularly enjoy hearing.
The game had not been stolen from me.
I had handed it away.
One move.
One lapse.
One moment where excitement had outrun caution.
The worst part was that Victoria had not even needed to do anything brilliant afterward.
She had simply accepted the gift.
Somehow that irritated me more.
The rest of dinner passed pleasantly.
Conversation drifted toward smaller things. Books. Travel. The city. The strange number of tea shops we had somehow visited despite neither of us planning to.
By the time dessert arrived, the sting of defeat had dulled slightly.
Only slightly.
The English Trifle was excellent.
Which felt unfair.
A person should not be allowed to lose a chess game and then immediately eat something that good.
Eventually dinner ended.
We stepped back outside into the cold.
The air bit immediately. Warmth fled through the fabric of my sleeves. Our breaths turned white beneath the streetlamps, which stretched pools of golden light across the pavement.
"Good night," I said as we reached our floor.
"Good night."
Qiang disappeared behind his door.
Mine clicked shut a moment later.
Silence.
I exhaled.
The room felt larger once I was alone.
My shoes landed near the bed.
My shoulders loosened.
"Dinner was good," I muttered.
The accompanying defeat should have remained somewhere else.
Unfortunately, it had followed me home.
I wandered toward the bathroom.
The floorboards creaked softly beneath my feet.
Warm water filled the tub. Steam gathered along the mirror.
The bath should have soothed me.
Instead, I found myself staring at the ceiling.
Replay.
Replay.
Replay.
Move thirty-two.
Again.
Again.
Again.
"She only capitalized on my mistake."
The words sounded much less convincing when spoken aloud.
I sank lower into the water.
Eventually even frustration grew tired.
I dried my hair, changed into night clothes, and collapsed onto the bed.
The mattress welcomed me immediately.
Outside, the city continued living. Distant carriage wheels. Footsteps. A voice somewhere below.
Gradually even those sounds faded.
Sleep approached.
Not gently.
More like an ambush.
Morning arrived with sunlight pressing against my eyelids.
I groaned.
The ceiling greeted me.
For several seconds, I simply lay there.
Then memory returned.
Victoria.
The game.
The rematch.
I sat upright.
Immediately.
Far faster than was reasonable.
"Ah."
A grin spread across my face.
"It's morning."
The room felt brighter than yesterday.
Or perhaps I was simply eager.
I performed my usual meditation.
At least attempted to.
Unfortunately, every path led back to chess.
Back to victory.
Future victory.
The victory that would definitely happen.
Probably.
The uncertainty irritated me.
Afterward, I escaped to the bathroom.
Warm water chased away the last traces of sleep. The soap smelled faintly of roses. Sunlight spilled through the window.
I moved quicker than usual.
Far quicker.
"You're excited."
I paused while adjusting a hairpin.
"No."
I continued arranging my hair.
"Yes."
The mirror offered no counterargument.
By the time I finished dressing, my hair had been carefully gathered into a bun. Hairpins secured everything neatly.
I inspected the result.
Acceptable.
More importantly, presentable.
Why that mattered suddenly—
No.
I ignored the thought.
I crossed the hall and knocked.
"Qiang, are you awake?"
The door opened almost immediately.
He was already dressed.
Already prepared.
Already looking suspiciously aware.
"Odd," he said. "You're ready earlier than expected."
I said nothing.
He said nothing.
Both of us understood perfectly.
Neither of us mentioned my hair.
The truce held.
We headed downstairs.
The lobby was quieter than the previous evening. A few travelers lingered near the entrance. Someone carried luggage across the floor.
Outside, the city was already awake.
"We will have breakfast either in the Concord cafeteria or the shop opposite the liaison building."
Qiang spoke with the calm certainty of someone preventing an argument before it happened.
I looked away.
He already knew.
If given the choice, I would have marched directly toward Victoria and demanded a rematch before breakfast.
Possibly before breathing.
The carriage ride carried us through the city.
Merchants opened storefronts. Workers moved between buildings. Ships rested in the harbor beyond the streets. Winter sunlight reflected from windows and damp stone.
The city felt alive.
Breathing.
Moving.
Growing louder with every passing minute.
Eventually the liaison building appeared.
Its gates remained closed.
Too early.
I immediately turned toward the tea shop across the road.
Open.
Of course it was.
Without waiting, I crossed.
"Wait for me," Qiang called after settling payment.
I waved vaguely.
The shop entrance approached.
Just as I reached it, the door burst open.
A woman rushed past.
Fast.
Too fast.
Her shoulder nearly struck mine.
For a split second our eyes met.
Then she was gone.
Running.
I frowned.
Odd.
Very odd.
Something about that felt wrong.
I pushed the door open.
The familiar scent of tea greeted me.
The shop was quiet.
Too quiet.
No breakfast conversations.
No clinking dishes.
No customers chatting over newspapers.
Just silence.
My eyes swept across the room.
Searching.
Looking for Victoria.
Finding—
There.
My breath stopped.
"Victoria."
The word escaped before I realized I had spoken.
She sat awkwardly in her chair.
At first, my mind refused to understand what it was seeing.
Then it did.
Red.
Far too much red.
Her white clothing was stained.
Tea had spilled across the table.
Blood mixed with it.
The colors spread together.
My stomach dropped.
No.
The thought came instantly.
Violently.
No.
The room tilted.
For a heartbeat, I considered chasing the woman who had run past me.
Then Victoria moved.
A small movement.
A trembling movement.
And every other thought vanished.
I crossed the distance immediately.
"Victoria!"
Her eyes found me.
She smiled.
A tiny thing.
A fragile thing.
But it was there.
The sight somehow made everything worse.
Fear lived behind that smile.
Raw.
Undeniable.
"What happened?"
My hands hovered uselessly.
I didn't know where to touch.
Didn't know what to do.
Didn't know anything.
Her lips moved.
No words came.
Her fingers shook as they reached toward me.
Grasping.
Missing.
Trying again.
Something warm crawled into my chest.
Fear.
Real fear.
"Get help."
The words left my mouth before I realized I had spoken them.
My mind raced.
Too fast.
Not fast enough.
The room remained horribly still.
No one else.
No answers.
Only blood.
Only tea.
Only the sound of my own heartbeat.
Victoria tried speaking again.
Nothing emerged.
Her hand caught the fabric of my hanfu.
Weakly.
Desperately.
Her eyes trembled.
So did mine.
"Stay awake."
I wasn't sure whether I was speaking to her or myself.
The chair scraped loudly as I lifted her.
The sound echoed through the empty shop.
Blood stained my sleeves.
Warm.
Far too warm.
Her head shifted against my shoulder.
I turned toward the door.
Toward the street.
Toward help.
Toward anything.
But before I could take her across the road—
Her eyes closed.
Something inside me stopped.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
Something that had been moving quietly until now.
No.
No, no—
Across the street, the gates of the liaison building stood open.
Morning continued.
People walked.
Carriages rolled past.
The city breathed.
The world moved.
And in my arms, Victoria no longer did.
My throat tightened.
My vision blurred.
I stared.
Unable to understand.
Unable to accept.
Unable to move.
This was wrong.
Something about it—
No.
Then blood touched the ground.
And I carried a corpse across the dirt.