When Zhinu's return to the glittering heavens from the mortal Niulang and their half-breed children was heralded by hosts of well-wishers, she was deeply understanding of their relief, deeply helpless against their righteousness, and above all, deeply betrayed by their joy. Nonetheless, she remembered her habits, and resolved to keep herself silent, busy, apart, as she had always done. In this way, she prayed -- but mostly pleaded, for she was in no position to give freely -- for the mercy that what was familiar would remain hers to keep, if she could not have what was created.

In a sleek, luxurious two-bedroom seaside cottage, she slipped off her dress of red trailing silk, shrugged on a shirt of yellow worn cotton, and tugged on a pair of black plain sweatpants, cinched above the ankles. Underneath the empty, looming door frame that led to a peachwood patio, she stroked the perpetual leaves of a sprout grown out of the floor, and stood back to watch it reach and bind and petrify into her juggernaut loom. Its infinite capillary threads were warped and strained and ready for her hands; she greeted the warm colours with her young, calloused fingertips, and grasped with a soft sigh the safe contours of the shuttle. She held it up, boat-like, against the fathomless view beyond: the milky stars, the pacific cosmos. She thought of Niulang's left arm, thrown up bare across the pillow as he slept. She thought of the little lumps that the twins made, curled and giggling underneath the silk sheets she had thrown smoothly over her and Niulang's bed, and how they wrinkled everything as they scrambled out and dashed away laughing.

Beside her, her father called her name, tapping her arm with the back of his fingers, familiarly awkward.

"Are we asking too much of you?" He asked easily.

"We are not asking too much, are we?" Her mother added, standing behind him.

"No, Sire" She replied quickly, widening her eyes and staring as if surprised. Her father nodded, accepting her quickness.

"Best to remember yourself, then? You must have some plans for your life. You have the ability, and I know that you have the ambition too. You cannot waste your work for one man, who cannot provide for the world as you have, much less provide for you. There is no denying this fact, yes? Are we agreed?" He continued.

"Yes, Sire," She concluded, nodding hard once. Her mother sighed, frowning at her.

"Mother?" She asked, keeping her eyes wide and blinking once.

"It's nothing, princess," Her mother replied quickly, blinking back as the frown dripped down past the eyes into a wide, close-lipped smile. She nodded, accepting her mother's quickness.

Her mother stared back. So she announced that she must begin work, for it would be dawn soon. And, accepting this also, her father noted that it was time for the Spring Rains. She recited the dimensions, keeping her eyes on her father: piles and rolls of the clouds, slivers of the skies, and a thin but brilliant swath of the red dawn. He nodded, commending her creativity and industry, relieved; she understood.

"Princess," Her mother murmured to her as her father stepped out of the cottage to prepare to leave. Inexorably, gently, the word pried her fingers from the shuttle, leaving the body heat behind. Smoothly, firmly, the word dragged her legs forward, and brought her to stand obediently in front of her mother. Silently, the word drew out her quick, cheerful tongue and replaced it with a leaden, sullen one, dropping the live thing with a dead scream onto the floor. She felt--righteously, then hatefully, then guiltily, then shamefully, and finally foolishly--as if she was the only one who could hear it. There it was, twitching impotently, embarrassingly passionate nonetheless, and so she was relieved when her mother spoke over it, in the usual precise, clipped tones. Do you understand what your Father is trying to say, Princess? I don't want you to be bitter over this. We are not trying to hurt you.

She held her mother's earnest gaze to make sure they did not look away. Underneath, she bared her forearm, and laid the nails of her other hand precisely on the paler inner skin. Her nails were freshly clipped.

I understand, was her leaden answer, and she quickened it by digging her nails in, and raking up--quick, vicious, relieved.

==

The next morning, dawn was a deep red scar under dark, fertile clouds -- and Niulang, seeing with his shallow mortal sight as their children scraped porridge clean from shallow bowls and arranged the marinated toppings into smiley faces, understood.