The tiger had stalked in shadow from one daughter to another, rising now to move out into the river. Delicate blue petals are comparable to han women. There is a preoccupation with scent and bathing and small lotus feet. Their men lust for flowers.
Batu emerges from the water no sweeter or clean, but with an arm of blue blooms caught in his jaws.
“Gongzhu,” he kneels.
