On the rampart Tang Di opened the foodbox and found a single chicken drumstick. “Where did this come from?” he asked.

　　Yu Lan didn’t know what to say, but Tang Di looked as if he wanted an explanation, so she replied, “Master Feng brought it for Miss Ruoshui. Miss Ruoshui treated us kindly and gave us some.”

　　“Where did he get it?” Tang Di asked.

　　“I don’t know. It was already on the table when I woke. Master Feng is amazing — Sister Furong and I both think he must be a god; he can do anything.”

　　“I wish he were a god,” Tang Di said. He was about to eat the drumstick when he suddenly looked up and asked, “Have you eaten?”

　　“Yes, yes.” Yu Lan nodded vigorously.

　　Though she nodded vigorously, her brief distraction did not escape Tang Di’s notice. He handed the drumstick to Yu Lan. “You eat. The Yunan Prince’s household has been remiss in hospitality and should not have burdened you.”

　　“No burden at all,” Yu Lan protested.

　　“All right.” Tang Di fed the drumstick into Yu Lan’s mouth and said, “You’re young — you should eat more. I, a big strapping man, am used to it.”

　　“I’m not little — I’m sixteen,” Yu Lan said indignantly.

　　“I’m twenty-six,” Tang Di replied, “so you’re the little one — a naive girl who knows nothing.”

　　That set Yu Lan off. “I’m not ignorant! I know everything. Sister Furong likes Master Feng, but Master Feng seems to like Miss Ruoshui. He obliges Miss Ruoshui in everything, always looking out for her, yet Miss Ruoshui seems to have no feelings for him.”

　　No wonder Miss Ruoshui was so picky about food, no wonder Feng Xinzi had lost his temper when she refused to eat, no wonder he had gone out at night to fetch roast chicken for her — the person he cared about should not be made to suffer. Tang Di smiled and then asked, “And you? Who do you like?”

　　“I like you!” Yu Lan blurted out. Realizing what she’d said, her face burned; she stammered, “I’ll go play the zither,” and fled.

　　Tang Di watched her bashful figure and felt a warmth rise in his chest. She brought him meals every day and played the zither for him. He had long suspected her feelings; hearing it from her own lips seemed to lift a cloud, making even the plain porridge taste faintly sweet.

　　But word slipped out that the famed physician still had no cure. The crowd, restless again, surged toward the ramparts in numbers greater than before. Tang Di set down the unfinished porridge, took up his sword, and went to hold them back.

　　The zither music stopped. Yu Lan watched Tang Di anxiously — one man against a mass of hundreds. As the crowd pressed closer, Tang Di’s head spun and his strength failed. The cause was obvious. He fought to steady himself.

　　Seeing Tang Di at the rampart held the crowd back for a moment, but then someone shouted, “Staying here means death — let’s fight him!” The throng surged. Tang Di had no strength left to resist; he was swept aside. Yu Lan realized something was wrong and clumsily ran down the rampart.

　　Ruoshui and Furong had just arrived and saw the scene: hundreds of citizens rushing toward the gate, Tang Di weak and helpless, Yu Lan stumbling toward him. Ruoshui wanted to act, saw a zither on the rampart, and ran — faster than she had any right to. Suddenly her feet seemed to fly; she landed by the zither. Without thinking she plucked at the strings. Notes poured out.

　　The crowd, seeing Ruoshui’s sudden ascent, thought a celestial maiden had descended. When the music began, they fell into it. In their minds Ruoshui’s melody conjured the Sleepless City as it had been: bustling streets, children at play, lovers shyly glancing at one another, merchants hawking wares — a city alive. Night glowed like day with countless lanterns; people gathered round the moats, lotus lanterns bobbed on the water, sky lanterns drifted upward, and the city’s joy seemed infectious.

　　As dawn’s cockcrow sounded, the music ceased. The people, as if waking from a dream, looked at each other and then up to Ruoshui on the rampart, puzzled but calmed.

　　Ruoshui rose and peered down at the crowd from the rampart with a commanding air that drew respect and stilled misbehavior. She said slowly, “People fear death. You want to live; we want to live. Prince Ding’an has the power to flee, but he did not — he stayed to guard you. You want to leave the city; we want to leave too. But if the famous doctor cannot save them, what good is going out? The dead in the gates will not survive, and those who escape may spread the pestilence further. Inside the gates may be death, but outside may not be life. Whether to stay or go — weigh the outcome yourself.” Then she turned to the soldiers: “Open the gates.”

　　Her natural dignity made the soldiers obey. The gates swung wide.

　　Those clustered at the gate, looking at the open portal, hesitated. They had come seeking life. If the famed doctor was powerless, then leaving might only doom others. And the city Ruoshui’s music had shown them — prosperous, safe — tugged at their hearts. Reasoned at length, they slunk back into the city.

　　Tang Di watched, amazed and relieved. A single song and a few words had calmed the mob. Her zither was peerless; her presence, persuasive. He felt admiration without end.

　　Furong looked up at Ruoshui standing in the wind and felt small and humbled. She finally understood why Master Feng doted on Ruoshui. Only Ruoshui could match him.

　　When the crowd dispersed, Ruoshui finally exhaled.