Page 109 of The Cinders

But Lim had watched many spectacles in his time; none sounded so wild as this.So out of control they might burn down the residence they were meant to glorify.With paper lanterns hung from every eve, and chunlian upon their paper scrolls decorating every doorway, fire would have a monstrous appetite here.

‘Help me!Help me!’

He gave up using his hands, and instead put his whole shoulder into the task, shoving at the low roof with all the strength he owned.

Lim threw his weight against the wood, desperate for the trapdoor now; trying to stifle the nagging voice that told him it would be locked, even if he was lucky enough to find it.

Panic grabbed him by the collar, tightening his throat.The air grew danker, tasting of ash, and he coughed more often than he could take a full breath.Sweat coated his face; he feared the cellar itself had grown warmer.

Another shudder of fireworks almost hid the snap and crackle that came from above.

A coughing fit struck him, thanks to the thickness of the smoke; invisible in the pitch dark.He felt it wrap around him; the pressure smothering his face.The heat was unmistakable now.

Lim dropped to the ground, searching for cool air.He went down onto his belly, frantic to find a hint of breathable air.He lay panting, tears streaming from his eyes, even as he held them squeezed closed.

An awful groan preceded a tremendous crash that had Lim crying out; certain he was to be crushed.The floor above him shuddered, and dust rained down, coating his body; Lim refused to imagine it was ash.

‘Help me.Help…’ His cry was too feeble for any but the earthworms to hear.Another coughing fit struck him; searing his lungs and straining his ribs.The press of heat and smoke drove him into the ground, draining the fight out of him; an invisible beast that ran its flaming tongue over his skin, ready to devour him.

Song Lim was no hero.What a fool to imagine himself otherwise.Now he’d burn, leaving Xian alone; believing Lim had not meant a word of his affections, and that the great truth he’d revealed about himself had sent a cowardly man running.

Lim covered his face and screamed into his hands.Or, he tried to.His body bucked and shook with the violence of his failing lungs.He was going to cough himself to death before the flames got to him.A mercy, he supposed.

Mercy.

He moaned.

With all the carp had done to bring him to Xian, this was how Song Lim repaid her.Dying in a zealot’s cellar.

‘I’m so sorry…Keshun…’ He whispered Xian’s mother’s name through dry lips.

Another giant crash—the collapse of structure — resounded as the fireworks continued to punch the air; the cool, sweet, breathable air beyond this firepit.

Lim’s clothes clung to him, the sweat wrung from his body.He’d given up trying to keep his eyes open; he’d almost given up trying to breathe.

The pain was too much.

He melted into the packed dirt; now heated by the inferno bearing down on him.The roar of the fire was soothing, the crackle as it ate its way towards him reminding Lim of happier times spent around a bonfire.Sitting with a cup of huangjiu in hand, enjoying the company of friends, other craftsmen, and villagers, in whichever town it was that he’d made his temporary home.Occasionally those fires would be shared with a lover, usually another traveller who’d not stay long enough to complicate matters.He sought trysts that left him free to concentrate on his first love: his trade.

So here he was, suffocating in an inferno, alone in his thirty-third year.He’d never preferred to be alone, not as the prince did; Lim simply had found no one that interested him more than the open road, and the next pair of shoes he’d design and create.

Not until it was too damned late.

He hiccoughed, the closest he could manage to taking a breath.Drool evaporated the moment it ran from the corner of his mouth; he had no strength to swallow.

This was the worst possible time to die.

A hot, rebellious tear fell from him.

Lim would have followed Xian to any distant land he needed.And expected nothing in return.Truly nothing.If he had never been asked into Xian’s bed, then so be it.He could live with simple closeness.

Lim smiled into the dirt, eyes stinging as sweat forced itself between his lids.How confounding that first meeting in Heng’s kitchen had been.Lim could easily lust within a second of laying eyes on a man, but never had such a deep longing found him so quickly.

The floorboards shook again; suffering under the heavy blow of a falling beam, or perhaps raining roof tiles.

Each sound marked the approach of death.Truly, this time.

Song Lim curled in on himself, trying to hide his mouth and nose from the worst of the heat.