by Mary Fan
Red lanterns line the streets, dripping from thin strings that hang off the wooden balconies and wide doorframes of Dailan’s low buildings. Each is carved with the characters and symbols that invoke the barrier spells at night. Brightly hued kites in the shapes of butterflies, sparrows, and dragons soar over the rooftops, and little clockwork birds flutter between them. Ordinarily Dailan is a simple village of brown and gray, but today’s festival decorations have given it splashes of red, gold, green, and blue.
“Zhou kai!” A man’s gruff voice strikes my ears.
A mechanical cart chugs toward me and Anshui, belching steam from its engine, its wheels clattering against the uneven stones. I grab my sister’s arm and pull her to the side of the street, careful to avoid the stinking gutter.
Mr. Cheng, one of Dailan’s spellmasters, sits in the driver’s seat, frowning behind his white beard. Judging by the earthen pots in the back of the cart—each of which is marked with characters and symbols—he’s probably on his way to congregate with the other spellmasters and work on enchantments to better protect our village. Though he and the others know their craft well, they’ve never been as adept at combining magic with mechanics as Grandfather, who built that cart years ago, and who once traded his inventions for the rare knowledge and costly ingredients needed to conjure the barrier spells.
Mr. Cheng speeds past us, and I leap out of the way to avoid mud splashing on my costume for the performance Anshui and I are to give shortly.
“Man dian!” Anshui cries. “If you don’t slow down, you could ruin the engine!”
Mr. Cheng doesn’t seem to hear her.
I chuckle. “You sound like Mother.”
Anshui makes a face. “If the cart breaks down again, I’m the one who will have to fix it. Grandfather didn’t like what they did to it last time and made me promise to take care of his favorite machine.”
“Grandfather visited you again?” I turn to her with a twinge of envy. Though the ghosts of friends and family have visited many in our village, they have yet to speak to me.
My sister nods. “I saw him in my dream last night. He also wanted to make sure I was keeping up with my studies and said he was sad he couldn’t be there to teach me himself.”
“That’s … wonderful. I wish he would visit me too.”
“Maybe he did, but you were too busy obsessing over the Shadow Warrior to see. I know you had another nightmare about him—you were cursing him in your sleep.”
I grimace. “I saw the Shadow Warrior right before the viceroy’s fleet arrived. I almost had him.”
“I know. Mother told me what happened.” Her expression becomes stern. “You shouldn’t let the Shadow Warrior dominate your thoughts. He’s only one Ligui, and there are so many out there. What would destroying a single one do?”
“I swore I’d avenge Father.”
“Father wouldn’t want you to if he knew how vengeance consumes your thoughts.”
I touch the jade pendant around my neck, running my finger across the tiny carved scales of the three koi splashing across its smooth surface. Father gave it to me when I reached my first hundred days of life, and I’ve worn it ever since. Now the pendant and my sword are all I have to remember him by. “You weren’t there when he died … You wouldn’t understand.”
“I guess I don’t.” Anshui sighs. “Come on. We don’t want to be late.”
She continues down the road, and I follow, shaking my head. This need for revenge—it’s a hunger that gnaws at me every day, and only when the Shadow Warrior is destroyed will it be satisfied.
I can’t help wishing the Shadow Warrior would attack again so that I might have another chance to finish him.
Joyful music curls through the air. From my spot backstage, I watch the small band of mechanical instruments performing on the village stage in the center of the square. The stringed lutes lean on metal stands, plucked by clockwork picks, and the long flutes dangle from strings with valves that open and close over the holes in place of fingers. Yellow sparks dance above them, telling of enchantments at play. The perfect blend between the old and the new, the earthly and the magical, fascinates me, and I marvel at the genius of the spellmasters who created it. When I close my eyes, I forget that the light, skipping tune is being produced by machines.
Our three old spellmasters sway their heads as they watch from the audience, their long, white beards bouncing against their simple gray tunics. Several villagers surround them, having crowded into the square for the show. Above, on a wide platform shaded by bamboo slats, Viceroy Kang sits on an ornate gilded chair. He must have brought it from his ship, since we have nothing so fine in Dailan. My jade pendant, which Father received from a Zhongjing lady as a gift for saving her life, is probably the most valuable thing in the village. Other than the River Pearl, of course.
Cyborg soldiers flank the viceroy, each surveying the crowd with one natural eye and one glowing mechanical one. Automatons guard the base of the platform, their expressionless, painted faceplates still. I glance at them, then at the mechanical band. Wonderful as the spellmasters’ creation is, it pales in comparison to everything the viceroy brought.
When the instrumental performance concludes, the spellmasters walk up the wooden steps to the stage and flip switches on each. Mechanical legs unfold from their delicate forms. They crawl off the stage, spider-like, gears clicking and feet clattering. The spellmasters follow.
Now it’s time for the last act: my solo performance. My body still aches from the sister act I performed with Anshui earlier—much of which consisted of me folding myself into elegant shapes while she leaped on top of me and performed the real stunts. Since she’s the smaller and more flexible one, she gets the glory when we perform together. But this next act will be mine alone, and it’s one I love performing so much, I don’t need a holiday—or an important official’s visit—to motivate me to practice it.
Holding out my prop sword, I stride onto the stage. The red ribbons woven into my hair, which sits in two twists on the sides of my head, trail behind me. My embroidered white tunic glints under the fading sun. Though its edges are yellowing, it’s still the finest thing I’ve ever worn, and it makes me feel like an empress.
“Have you ever heard the tale of the great Warrioress?” The question is rhetorical; everyone knows the legend of Warrioress. I sweep forward until I’m standing at the very edge of the stage and look the viceroy right in the eye. “Let me tell you.”
I sprint upstage. A bamboo pole stands at the back, towering like a narrow tree trunk. I drop my prop sword, leap upward, and seize the pole. Several feet above the ground, I curl my knees into my chest.
“She was the daughter of a Yueshen prince and his beautiful bride—a pair so pure, Heaven granted them the powers of the stars.” Though the strain of holding myself up makes my arms ache, the rehearsed words flow seamlessly from my tongue. “But the evil Mowang, the demon king, grew jealous of them and cursed them with his dark magic. Any children they bore would fall to Earth and be trapped in a human form.”
To illustrate Warrioress’s fall from the moon, I push off the pole and flip backward. When I land in a crouch, the audience applauds.
“The place where the infant Yueshen princess landed was once a battlefield, and the ghosts of the great warriors who’d died there took pity and raised her.” Slowly, I rise, picking up the prop sword. “With their training, she learned to fight as well as any man—and better than most!”
I flip across the stage, slashing my sword, then twist and kick in several theatrical martial arts movements. They would never work against a real enemy, of course, but they impress the audience, which claps approvingly. I tumble some more, sweeping my sword over my head and tossing it from hand to hand for extra effect.
In this moment, I’m a bit of both Mother and Father. Mother choreographed the acrobatic parts, and Father taught me some real swordplay to make it feel more authentic. Spotting Mother in the crowd, I flash her a smile. She beams at me
.
My heart soars as I strike at an invisible enemy. I love this act, love embodying the tale of the legendary woman who battled wicked humans, fearsome demons, and evil spirits long, long ago. Even before the Ligui came, I dreamed of being like her. Though joining the Guard brought me one step closer to her physical feats, I’m nowhere close to matching her intelligence, and defending one village seems so insignificant next to the stories of how she saved entire nations. But when I’m onstage, I can pretend … and if the audience believes it, then so can I.
“But the girl knew she couldn’t stay among the spirits forever. So she left the protection of the ghost warriors to seek out the humans.” The next segment allows me to recover a bit as I stride across the stage, acting out Warrioress’s journey. “Mowang, realizing how powerful she’d grown, sent a demon soldier to kill her the moment she struck out alone.”
Ideally, another performer would play the enemy. But finding a suitable actor in Dailan proved impossible, and so Mother arranged the choreography so that I could play both parts—Warrioress and the demon soldier.
“The demon soldier attacked!”
I twist my face into a grotesque expression. My next set of tricks involves bolder movements and cruder execution as I imitate the wicked being. I march across the stage and stab my sword at the air, then perform a few simple turns.
“But he was no match for her skills.”
This is my favorite part: the young Warrioress defeating her first real enemy. I feel her determination and courage flow through me as I strap the prop sword to my back and leap onto the bamboo pole, then use the momentum to swing around and throw myself into a complex flip. Wind whips past me, and elation fills my heart as I fly. For this one instant, I, too, am more than human.
In midair I grab the sword from my back and, as I descend, grip the hilt with both hands. The moment my feet land on the stage I kneel dramatically and stab the blade into the ground.
“She defeated him, and from that moment on, she was known as Warrioress.”
Of course, the tale of Warrioress would go on for much longer than what my one-person show could express, but it’s a satisfying ending nonetheless.
Cheers break out. Though my neighbors have seen this performance many times before, I apparently still impress them. I stand with a grin and take a moment to bask in my success before bowing and walking off. Out of breath, I collapse against one of the wooden posts propping up the stage. My bangs cling to my sweaty forehead.
“Attention!”
Hearing Headman Su’s voice, I force myself to straighten. Though I wish I could remain back here—I can hear him fine, after all—I’ve been told many times that it’s rude not to show my face when the headman is speaking. I need to be seen listening, which seems silly, but I drag my weary limbs around the stage and join the crowd.
Su waves from the elevated platform, standing beside the viceroy’s chair. “Viceroy Kang and I have reached an agreement. He will honor us by taking one of our daughters as his eighth wife if we will grant him the River Pearl.”
Gasps ripple through the crowd. I furrow my brow. Viceroys don’t marry village girls … or any girls who aren’t the daughters of nobility. But more bizarre is the price—how can Su give up Dailan’s sacred gem? I’ve never thought much of the River Pearl before—it was always just some ancient relic to me—but now that someone wants to take it, I feel invisible fists rising in my chest, ready for a fight. That gem belongs to my village, and no condescending government official should have it.
Su motions for silence. “Quiet! I made this agreement for the good of all in Dailan. Though Ligui continue to attack cities and villages across Sijiang Province, Viceroy Kang has agreed that in addition to a generous bride price, he will station a permanent battalion here to protect Dailan once he’s married. For then this will be his wife’s village, and he will be duty-bound to ensure the safety of all who live here.”
The invisible fists drop. An old, useless object in exchange for the safety of hundreds … it’s obvious what the right thing to do is. Though the River Pearl is said to carry great magic, I’ve never seen it do anything other than sit in its shrine. Many who prayed to it for protection, hoping to reach the River Dragon through it, have fallen to the Ligui. And it’s continued to lie there, no different from any rock, while the Ligui kill again and again. Some blessing it turned out to be.
No one mentions why Kang might want the pearl, and honestly, I don’t care. The only thing I want more than the destruction of the Shadow Warrior is for no more of my people to die at the hands of his kind.
Su waits for the information to sink in. After a beat, he continues. “We are very fortunate that the viceroy is willing to take a woman of such humble lineage into his household. All eligible women are to be presented to him for consideration. The—” He breaks off as Kang stands abruptly and steps in front of him.
Kang mutters into Su’s ear, and an uncomfortable feeling snakes through me. I wish fiercely that I were close enough to hear what the viceroy is saying.
Su looks the viceroy in the eye, nods, and turns back to the crowd. “The presentation will not be necessary, as Viceroy Kang has already chosen his bride.”
So quickly? I feel sorry for whichever poor woman will be forced to leave with that man. The crowd titters, echoing my curiosity.
Headman Su glances around. “Liang Anlei!”
My eyes widen. Why is he calling me?
Viceroy Kang’s gaze finds me first. A hungry look glitters in his eyes, and a subtle sneer plays across his lips.
My heart stops. It’s me … He wants me …
My legs start running before the realization fully hits me. And when it does, I urge them to run faster.
CHAPTER FOUR
MY HOME, MY HEART
I don’t know where I’m going … I just can’t stay here. My heart urges me to run. Kuai pao … Kuai pao … it’s all I know how to do.
“Anlei!” Mother’s voice rings in my ears, but I don’t stop.
How could Viceroy Kang have chosen me? I’m hardly the kind of girl a government official would want to marry … My manners are crude even on my best days. Does he realize that I’m the same mud-covered peasant he looked down upon last night?
Glimpsing a bridge, I turn sharply toward it. I duck under the arched wood. The tide is low enough for several inches of land to stand between the base of the bridge and the stream it spans.
Panting, I lean back. What do I do?
Every inch of me revolts at the prospect of marrying the viceroy. Not only is he old enough to be my father, not only does he clearly look down upon me and my people, but the way he regarded me—as if I’m some piece of property he can buy—and the way he had Headman Su call for me like a dog showed me his character.
The thought of marrying him makes me sick. I cannot spend the rest of my life under his roof, forced to entertain his whims and bear his children … The very thought makes me gag.
For several minutes, I stand in the shadow of the bridge, wishing I could melt into it. My mind whirls, and my heart pounds. I can refuse the viceroy all I want, but the choice isn’t mine. It’s Su’s. With both Father and Grandfather gone and no other male relatives in the village, the headman is effectively the patriarch of our family—a role he’s taken on for more and more households as the Ligui have devastated the population. We mostly provide for ourselves between Mother’s sewing skills, Anshui’s tinkering, and my role in the Dailan Guard, but when that’s not enough, Su’s the one who sees that we have what we need. It’s his right to marry me off to whomever he pleases, and there’s nothing I can do about it. The injustice roils my blood.
Thoughts race through my head. If I can’t refuse, maybe I can run away. I wouldn’t need much—just a weapon and a change of clothes. I could disappear into the countryside and never see Kang again.
“Anlei!” Mother peers down at me from the bridge above, disappointment clouding her lined face.
“I can’
t marry him.” I shake my head vigorously. “I can’t.”
Mother approaches, joining me in the bridge’s shadow. “Anlei—”
“It’s not fair! Why must I marry someone I don’t even know? What does the viceroy want with a village girl anyway?”
“It was Headman Su who insisted upon a marriage alliance. He feared that without that kind of permanent bond with Dailan, the viceroy would break his word and fail to provide the promised protection after receiving the River Pearl. Since he is a powerful man, such a transgression would have no court for justice.” Mother’s thin brows tilt with sorrow. “I didn’t want this fate for you either. I wanted you to meet a nice boy who makes you laugh, to fall in love without meaning to and marry after realizing you couldn’t live without him…. I wanted you to have what I had with your father.”
“So don’t make me do this! Can’t you convince the headman to leave me alone?”
“I understand how hard this must be for you.” Her voice is gentle. “You’ve enjoyed a lot of freedom in Dailan. I always thought you’d be married by now, but you never showed any interest in being a wife, and I would never push you to be anyone but who you are. Things will be different if you marry the viceroy … what’s being asked of you is nothing short of a sacrifice. Under different circumstances, I would never ask you to accept his hand. But it’s not your fate alone that’s at stake.”
“But … there are plenty of eligible women in Dailan! Surely one of them wants to be a viceroy’s wife! We can convince him that I’m unsuitable…. I—I dress like a boy and fight Ligui! My hands are blistered and my skin’s too dark…. What viceroy would want a wife like that?”
Mother sighs. “Headman Su offered to find him a girl more suited to being a lady. But Viceroy Kang is a proud man, and you insulted him when you ran. He’ll lose face if it looks like you can refuse him. Even our attempts to persuade him to choose someone else offend him, for it calls his original judgment into question. He stated that he will marry the girl he chose or leave for good.”
