fter tossing and turning for the better part of an hour, Zhou reached out to his nightstand and fumbled around for a box of matches. If sleep evaded him, he might as well do something productive. It was after midnight and the rain rattled against the windows. When the blankets fell free of his bare chest he shivered, unaccustomed to the chill. Even in the dead of winter it was unusually cold for tropical Kryta.

“Zhou?”

He lay still, rolling his eyes and hoping Liang Meng would go back to sleep.

“Zhou?” she persisted, “I’m sorry. I know you’re mad at me but what else was I supposed to do?”

He detected her standing outside of his door. He had kept it ajar to allow the heat from the hearth in the parlor into his bedroom. Normally his door was locked. Were it not for the fact that his granddaughter looked to Liang Meng as a mother, he would have sent the foolish woman to live in her own quarters months ago.

“Go to bed.”

“Penny’s fine and we all made it back safely. It’s not fair that you won’t talk to me.”

“Liang Meng, please go to bed. We will discuss this tomorrow.”

“But I can’t sleep knowing you’re angry at me.”

Zhou sat up and fumbled for the matches again, lighting the half-melted beeswax candle he kept beside his bed. Sighing, he shrugged into a long shift and sat on the edge of his bed.

“Alright, come in.”

He was afraid she would awaken Xue Xue and all he needed now was both of them creating a fuss. The little girl required an hour of his time in the evening to get settled into bed. He cringed to think of the stories she liked him to read and he had already endured his nightly dose. Rabbits did not talk and he did not understand why children enjoyed such fallacies. Liang Meng, however, grew furious with him if he did not play along. He simply felt there were more accurate representations of the natural world than Mistress Fuzzytail and her brood of hopelessly insipid and stupid rabbit children.

Gods, she had been crying. Her eyes were puffy and it was hard to ignore the emotional tension. Perhaps he should not have yelled at her, but why did she have to be so infuriating?

“You have my attention. What do you want to discuss?” he asked grimly.

“I never meant to put anyone in danger and I had the best intentions. I just thought Pen needed to get out and enjoy some music… and he didn’t seem to mind and he seemed happy about it.”

“I had no idea where he was, I only knew he was endangered. He is delicate, Liang Meng, he cannot take any more hurt right now. How could you be so careless?”

“He’s lonely,” she protested, “and we didn’t leave him alone or let him get hurt… and you should have seen him, he fought like a demon. You should be proud.”

“I am proud,” Zhou sighed, “The fact is, you did not ask me first and you lied to the others.”

He had to concede that the fall out from Liang Meng’s expedition had been largely positive. Pendaran had not come back from the event a gibbering wreck. Quite the contrary, he seemed exhilarated and he had hinted that he would do it again if offered the chance.

“You would have said no and I knew Pen really wanted to go.”

“Let the matter rest, I am done being angry about it. I am, however, still annoyed about he refugees.”

“They had to go somewhere.”

“Somewhere other than here.”

“You’re such a heartless horrible man sometimes. I don’t know why I love you.”

She was crying again and for a time the silence between them was broken only by her stifled sobs.

“Liang Meng, I can barely afford to keep this guild running. We are short on funds, I’ve lost my contacts in Cantha and now we are living in a country that is poised on the brink of civil war. I know you have a generous soul, but there are limits.”

“They have money. They just need somewhere safe to stay.”

“The White Mantle know we are here. If we start offering asylum to their enemies, we will become a target. I am not ignorant of what they are doing, but encouraging people to seek refuge here leaves us vulnerable to attack. Months of careful planning are now for naught.”

His reasonable tone and logic fell upon deaf ears. He might just as well have thrown tinder on an open flame for the storm of her grief intensified, hardening into a knot of self-righteous anger.

“I’m sorry I ruined your plans but once those people are dead, no plan in the world will bring them back. I invited them, and I will continue to invite them, and if you don’t like it, then ask them to leave and I will go with them.”

“Liang Meng…”

“No! Don’t try being reasonable. I liked you better when you were brave and you fought demons and helped people. You think too much!”

“I do not see the point in taking unnecessary risks!”

“I see them as necessary.”

Zhou closed his mouth. There was no arguing with Liang Meng when she got this way. It baffled him. He never realized how deeply personal this was for her.

“It is late and we are both tired. I concede that perhaps I let my temper get the better of me,” he began calmly, “Those you have invited will be granted refuge here, but in future, promise you will talk to me first.”

To his horror, Liang Meng flung herself against him and latched onto his breast like a limpet. For such a small person, her embrace made his ribs groan in protest.

“Thank you,” she variously wept and giggled, repeating the words like a mantra. Zhou remained statue still as her emotions collided against his inner calm. When he closed his eyes to center himself, it was with the awareness of another human soul curled in his arms in complete trust and adoration. Gods, how could he stay angry with her? And how could he not love her back? He held her until the storm passed and she regained some semblance of dignity. Then, without a word, he rose and guided her gently toward the door.

“Good night, Liang Meng.”

“Zhou?”

“Yes?”

She hesitated and he sensed her embarrassment as she paused at the threshold.

“Oh, nevermind, it was a silly question. Good night.”

Shaking his head, he pinched out the candle flame and shucked off his shirt. This time when he curled back under the blankets he let the sound of the rain sing him to sleep.