"Speak, old woman," commanded the monkeyish guard, his eyebrows furrowed and his spear pointed towards Zheng Xian. "Why do you refuse dinner? Speak!"
Zheng Xian gave the guard a serene smile. "Such disgusting food is not worthy of the Empress of China," she said, straightening her back. The guard had called her an old woman, but in truth, she was only 48; the stress of exile had greatly aged her, though. Her skin had become withered like a dried persimmon and streaks of silver riddled her silky black hair. There were bags under her eyes, and her once-crimson lips were now a faded pink. Without any paint for them, they had become so dried and cracked that they looked like the ground during an earthquake.
"Xian," said her husband, the former Emperor Huizong, darkly. He gave her a sharp look of warning which she ignored.
"I do not understand why you insist on keeping us here," added Xian.
"Ungrateful old wretch!" spat the guard, spit spewing from his mouth and landing in Xian's lap. "My people could have killed you along with your dim witted old husband, but we did not. You must be grateful for our mercy!"
Zheng Xian said nothing. Her brow creased and her plump chin quivering, she had a thoughtful look on her face.
"My wife shall retire now, good sir," said Huizong, giving Xian a prompting look.
"You are no longer Emperor," she fired. "You cannot control my actions!"
"But I am still your husband," he said sharply.
Zheng Xian sighed. The difficulties Huizong had faced after his abdication and the siege of his kingdom had turned him bitter and controlling, usually towards her.
If only things could be the way they were when Xian was his maid...