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528 pages, Hardcover
First published September 27, 2022
꒰ ⊹ “spend long enough gluing together a shattered glass vase, and you will have a vase again.”
- “nation over everything. but not you, sweetheart. never your life in exchange.”
- “rosalind had been in a world of pain, her family’s punishment still fresh and raw, the whip marks on her back still bloody. she wanted to take it out on the world. she wanted to resent everyone she loved – just to feel something other than helplessness.”
- “you can’t ask me not to love you by keeping me at arm’s length. I'll love you anyway.”
"If you trust me, you can trust him, too." [...] What bizarre idea. Trust didn't come in package deals
"Her brother had sacrificed so much because he'd wanted to see the city changed, and Alisa was only ever going to work toward seeing that to fruition. [...] Rosalind trusted her to protect this vial, and Alisa would protect it. The moment she fell off the grid, no one would be able to find her. That was a promise."
"All she had wanted was love. Somehow, she had gotten cruelty from every direction instead."
Maybe he wanted her threatening him with a straight razor in her hand. [...] Once this assignment was finished, he wasn't ready to lose her. He didn't want to lose her now.
"Nation over everything. But not you, sweetheart. Never your life in exchange."
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps— this was a game that haunted Rosalind late into her eternal nights, a useless exercise of cataloguing everything she’d done wrong to end up where she was today.
Rosalind had broken the city; she wouldn’t be happy until she fixed it.
Each time Rosalind inspected her own fingers, it felt like there was something slick and vicious coasted all the way up to her wrists. It seemed impossible that others could not sense it, that the shoulders she brushed while pushing through a crowd didn’t automatically flinch away because they felt her transferring a metallic stench over to them.
When did imperialists care about history? All they wanted was to crush its conquests to dust: all the better to sweep them nicely into shape.
All she had wanted was love. Somehow, she had gotten cruelty from every direction instead.
Rosalind suddenly picked up the dagger that Dao Feng had thrown at her, taking aim. She had thought it would make a mighty fine threat, that Orion might flinch when she raised her arm, but he only grinned, straightening his posture. Their eyes met. His had a wild sort of glee in them, as if he were saying, Please, go on. I dare you.
”What is family for if not to love us and then break our hearts?”
He knew why she wore it, that it covered her throat and prevented hateful strangers from trying to tell her whether or not she could be a woman. She was a woman regardless; it was only unfortunate that others in this world had certain ideas about what she needed to look like.
”You can’t ask me not to love you by keeping me at arm’s length. I’ll love you anyway.”
"i have spent every night unsleeping," rosalind countered. "spend long enough gluing together a shattered glass vase, and you will have a vase again."
orion couldn't stop looking at her. artists would scramble to paint a face like that onto war posters. render her expression in vivid enough lines, and the sight alone could lead the world into battle.
"but shanghai is not a glass vase," he said gently. "it is a city."
"attached to high tide?" she echoed, her voice teasing. "have you grown attached to me, hong liwen?"
"yes," his reply came easily. it didn't sound like he was teasing her in return. "i have."
“you wanted daffodils at your wedding, and suddenly i wanted to be the one beside you at the altar watching you hold them. i wanted it to be real. i wanted it all to be real."
“in that manner, perhaps no one is alike to anyone, but that only means that they are another one of the masses, another face that does not draw attention, another late-night wanderer trailing along the streets to the dun, dun! of the tram chugging on its tracks. they are your neighbor leaning off the balcony; they are a hawker selling peaches; they are that banker hailing the last rickshaw in the area to pursue the night in a different district. they are, quite simply, shanghai.”
“this is not a game to me. i would rather die by your hand than have you believe me a traitor. i would rather take a fast bullet than have us pitted on different sides of an agonizing battle.”
“a city reborn is a city traumatized. it remembers its past, every second that it took to get to this point. it sees the former version of itself and knows that it has changed, its boots no longer fitting, its hats no longer comfortable. the streets trace how they used to sprawl. no matter how it is paved over and reorganized, memories and echoes do not fade away that easily.”
beautiful. arrogant. conniving.
you wanted daffodils at your wedding, and suddenly i wanted to be the one beside you at the altar