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Eight months later, after days and nights of slaving in the workshop and suffering a monthslong sickness, after two years, eight months, and twenty-five days at Kawashima’s residence, Anyu finished her second Kawashima Egg.

On the day she was to present it, she insisted on submitting it herself.

It was her last chance to have a face-to-face meeting with the woman who had robbed her of her egg, and now years of her life. Mr. Tanaka, after a long pause, agreed.

Carefully, Anyu placed her ornament in a box lined with black velvet.

The egg had taken her longer than usual to complete, with her headaches, increasing sensitivity to lights and noise, and devastatingly low vision.

The long exposure to the chemicals in the workshop had wreaked havoc on her body, making her a victim to all types of ailments and aches.

Anyu picked up the box and wove her way out of the workshop. Since her arrival, the number of jewelers had dwindled. Some had left, some were thrashed again, and Mr. Cai, who had fallen ill, had died six months before.

Outside the building, Mr. Tanaka stood, looking at something far off. She followed his gaze. An encampment had been built near the stand of pines on the other side of the red gate. Japanese marines wearing khaki uniforms and peaked field caps were transporting rifles and guns from trucks.

Kawashima’s ambition of taking over the country seemed to be coming to fruition.

These days, Anyu had seen large contingents of soldiers appear in the yard in front of the workshop, and the food rations for the jewelers had diminished.

Word was that the food for the jewelers was given to the marines, who transported bombs and firearms from a warship in the Huangpu River to the princess’s residence.

And very soon, the pilots for Japanese warplanes would arrive.

Rumors of a conflict between the Japanese militants and the Chinese ruling government, the Nationalists, had been swirling.

But this was the first time she had seen the marines with her own eyes.

She still had a hard time believing that the Japanese, who had invaded her hometown, were preparing to invade Shanghai.

“I’ll need to inspect your clothing before you leave the building, then I’ll take you to the princess’s showroom,” Mr. Tanaka said.

“I request a moment with her alone,” Anyu said.

Mr. Tanaka nodded, crossed the bridge, and led her toward the building with the blue roof. She slowed down. Near the pear tree was the black Citroen again.

“She didn’t tell me she had a visitor,” Mr. Tanaka growled.

“I’ll wait,” Anyu said, holding the box with the Kawashima Egg. Going back to the workshop was not an option.

And that was when she heard a thunderous boom in the distance. There was a tremor on the ground; the building rattled.

“It has started! It has started!” Mr. Tanaka sprinted toward the marines’ encampment, where the troops were looking up at the sky, grinning. The bombing has started! Mobilize!

Bombing Shanghai? Anyu’s heart sank. She turned to the black Citroen; inside, Bellefeuille’s chauffeur in his livery sat in the driver’s seat, tapping on the steering wheel.

She ran up the stone staircase and entered the building with lattice windows.

Kawashima was not inside. The room was quiet, spacious, lined with cabinets, tables, and glass shelves; encased inside the shelves were replicas of Fabergé eggs: the Hen Egg, the Mosaic Egg, and the Coronation Egg she had crafted.

Kawashima’s showroom. Anyone else would have been more discreet with the priceless eggs encrusted with diamonds, but Kawashima didn’t seem concerned that her treasures would be a target of theft.

Holding her box, Anyu browsed the display with mixed feelings.

There was no denying their beauty, their exceptional value, and their superb craftsmanship, but seeing their sparkling brilliance, she couldn’t help but think of the endless hours of labor, the wan faces of the sickly jewelers, their stagnant looks, and their tired souls.

What was the value of creating art if the artists were slaves?

A dizzy spell seized Anyu, and she lurched forward, nearly crashing into the shelves.

Balancing herself, she stared at her own reflection in the glass.

Nearly three years of imprisonment had taken a toll on her: her hair was thinning, graying near her ears; her skin was pallid, blotchy, and blackened, uneven like an etched silver sheet; and her back stooped. She was only twenty-seven.

A groan. Faint. Coming from the adjacent room on her left.

Slowly, she tiptoed to the room and peered in. Her jaw dropped.

Kawashima, clad in her uniform, was holding her stomach with one hand, a sword in the other, standing in a pool of blood. Facing her was a standing figure, a man in a purple suit, a man whom she wished she’d never known—Pierre Bellefeuille.

He didn’t see her, with his back to her, but she could see what he was holding. A pistol.

“My patience is limited,” Bellefeuille said.

“You won’t get out of here alive,” Kawashima said, raising her sword.

“Try me again.”

“You weasel.” Kawashima panted.

“We had a deal. You keep your egg, and I take the treasures. Let me ask you again. Where are my treasures?”

“I’ve told you many times in the past that I have no knowledge of them. When I arrived at the vault, all the treasures were gone.”

“Gone? How could they all be gone?”

“The British woman must have relocated them.”

“The same old rubbish. You liar. You took them for yourself. I know it.”

The three-year mystery unraveled before Anyu.

Bellefeuille had been working together with Kawashima, and Kawashima was his client who had asked to purchase the Romanov treasure.

They had made the agreement that she’d seize the Fabergé egg from Isaac and raid the vault, and he’d keep the workmasters’ loot.

And now Bellefeuille had come, for he’d never received his share.

“Give me my treasures or I’ll take your eggs,” Bellefeuille said and turned to his right, where the glass shelves held four eggs—the Third Imperial Easter Egg, crafted by Peter Karl Fabergé, the Cherub with Chariot Egg, the Mauve Egg, and Anyu’s egg, the Winter Egg.

These imperial treasures had not been featured in the sketches in the workshop, and they appeared to be authentic Fabergé objets d’art .

“Stay where you are!” Kawashima shouted.

The gunshot rang out at the same time as an arc of white flashed in the air. And then the room fell silent. Anyu stood still, her heart in her throat.

A clunk. The pistol slipped from Bellefeuille’s hand, and he fell sideways in a heap. Kawashima gasped, blood dripping from her sword and gushing from her thigh.

Anyu stepped into the room and walked to Bellefeuille.

A pool of blood spread beneath him; his face was contorted, his eyes angry, eyelids fluttering, then he was finally still.

He had been a poor lover, a malevolent jeweler, and a morally repugnant human, but seeing him lifeless, Anyu felt sorry for him, a man devoured by greed.

At least his death had been quick and painless.

“You killed him,” Anyu said.

Kawashima’s face was twisted with pain. “He deserved it.”

Anyu felt dizzy again. The room appeared to be blurry, and the pool of blood seemed to flow toward her. “You killed him before I had a chance to ask him. How did he know that Isaac had the Winter Egg?”

“He heard it from a woman who had an affair with your master’s son.”

Miss Rose worked for him. “I see. Then what kind of assistance did he offer you?”

“Without his help, I would not have known where your master was. I almost cornered him in Harbin, but he slipped out of my hands. He was cunning enough, changed his name in Shanghai. When I met the Frenchman, asking to purchase the eggs, he thought of your master but didn’t tell me immediately.

He had an eye on Mrs. Brown, it turned out.

And he had been collecting secrets about her and following her and her cronies for years.

Then he learned of the vault, but with her tight security, he was unable to break into it, until I showed him the British woman’s signet ring. ”

Anyu felt a stab of pain in her heart. Bellefeuille had seen her with the ring before and had not suspected, but the same ring from Mrs. Brown would no doubt have roused his suspicion. It wouldn’t have taken long for him to discover the double-headed eagle and unlock the vault.

“He also gave me good tips and advised that I’d have better odds of succeeding if I used you as leverage. He believed you mattered greatly to that old jeweler, and he was right.”

“He plotted the robbery?”

“Never underestimate the blackened heart of a bitter lover who bleeds the bile of revenge.”

Anyu closed her eyes. “And you did all the dirty work. You hired rogues to hijack us in the car, and you slaughtered Isaac’s family and Mrs. Brown and the rest of the Guild members. You committed all these heinous crimes for an egg.”

“It’s mine! I had three real Fabergé eggs, and now I have four!” Her eyes were rimmed with blood, her lips twitching, as she held the sword for support. Had she not been shot, Kawashima would have slashed Anyu already.

Anyu stared at the ornaments on the shelf. “Four real Fabergé eggs, including my Winter Egg. Why are you obsessed with them?”

“I like them. I’ve been drawn to beautiful things since I was little, and I grew up with them: sapphires on my shoes, diamond bangles.

I could have anything I asked for. I was born into the Aisin Gioro clan!

My ancestors founded the great Qing Dynasty!

Then everything was taken from me and I was a pauper, an orphan in another country. ”

“The eggs were never gifts from your parents, like you claimed.”

“What does it matter? Those eggs were created for the Romanovs, and I am the daughter of the great Qing Dynasty. I have imperial blood, so they should belong to me. I sell the replicas for money when I’m bored, and I hunt the real ones. It’s fun.”

Fun? “Do you know what this egg means to me? It was created with the assistance of my mentor, and it was gifted to him by tsarists who were unwilling to see it fall into the rebels’ hands.

Since he was entrusted with it, my mentor was hunted by greedy people like you.

He protected it with his life, only revealing its hiding place to save me when your robbers hijacked us. ” Anyu stopped to catch her breath.

The princess lifted her foot an inch.

“Do you understand? This egg is not simply an ornament; it’s the essence of his legacy, his genius, and his sacrifice, and I promised to protect it for as long as I live, but still, if I could give you the egg in exchange for his life and his family’s lives, I would.”

“It’s my egg!”

“You already have three. Isn’t that enough?”

“Enough? I want more. I want to find all the imperial Fabergé eggs. I have to collect all of them. All fifty of them.”

Anyu shook her head. “You’re obsessed, and you’re greedy. I’ve been your prisoner for two and a half years. It’s over now. I’m going home. I need my egg back.”

“Come take it.” Kawashima put her hand on the sword’s hilt.

Anyu knew what would have happened next, a lunge and a blow with deadly precision, had Kawashima not already been wounded twice. But she had Pierre to thank, in the end. “You can barely stand. I’m not afraid of you.”

Kawashima raised her sword deliberately.

“All right, then.” Anyu picked up the pistol that had slipped out of her former lover’s hand. She had never used a gun before. But with one close look at it, the barrel, the bolt inside the receiver, the trigger mechanism, and the locking latch, she knew how it worked. She was a jeweler, after all.

“Put it down.”

Anyu held the gun unwaveringly with two hands. “You murdered Isaac and his family. I’ll kill you.”

She pulled the trigger.

Bang. Kawashima stood still, then the sword slipped from her hands, and she dropped to the floor.

Was she dead? Anyu didn’t have time to think. Her vision was blurring; her hands were trembling. She shook her head to steady herself. Then she turned to the glass shelf that contained the four eggs and fired. The glass shattered. She reached in and took the box that contained the Winter Egg.

With the ornament safely in her pocket, Anyu ran outside toward the Citroen. She knocked on the window. “Please get me out of here.”

“Miss Anyu? Is that you?” The chauffeur looked stunned.

“Quick, quick.” In the encampment, the marines and Mr. Tanaka had left, leaving bundles of rifles near their sleeping bags.

“Where’s Monsieur Bellefeuille?” The chauffeur looked around frantically.

The ground was still quivering. Were the Japanese still bombing?

“He can’t make it. Go now!”

Reluctantly, the chauffeur started the car and bounced down the road.

Anyu looked behind. She could see, from the back window, Kawashima, drenched in blood, crawling over the threshold, brandishing her sword.

Anyu’s heart dropped. Kawashima was still alive.

She would not let her egg go without a fight.

“Go, go!”

“The front gate is shut,” the chauffeur said, slowing down.

“Just drive!”

“You’re crazy!”

But then, as Anyu hoped, the chauffeur sped, and the car blasted through the gate. A great force slammed her, throwing her backward. She could feel her eyes bulging, and her head hit something hard. A shower of bricks rained down; debris stung her eyes. Then, finally, the car slowed to a stop.

The chauffeur groaned, but he was all right.

Anyu crawled out of the car and stepped onto the street.

It was eerily quiet. No rickshaws, no cars, no pedestrians.

She had heard the bombing, but it seemed this area was spared.

There was no hole in the ground or collapsed buildings, only some piles of broken shutters and roof tiles.

She coughed, wiped the blood dripping into her eyes, and felt her pocket to make sure the box was safely tucked inside. Then she began to walk in the direction of the Mandelburgs’ shop, hoping to find Esther.