The Thirteenth
She could never tell him that somewhere, sometime, far away (called America) that the number thirteen would be considered a curse. He would laugh at her, think her crazy, and ask just what the hell this "America" is. After all (she carefully reminds herself) this is Qing China, and she is Maertai Ruo Xi.
And so, she looks at him fondly from a distance and tries not to think (to remember) how soon his life will end, how quick and tragic everything will be. In three hundred years, they will all be reduced to insignificance—a line in a textbook, dust in history.
"Ruo Xi…are you well?"
Instinctively, her hand travels to her abdomen. He pretends not to notice, slyly averting his gaze. Ruo Xi laughs softly and squeezes the edge of his sleeve. In the end, he is still the one who knows her best.