The Imperial Alchemist

by A. H. Wang

  “Sir?” Joseph’s voice brings him out of his brooding rumination. Mark turns, surprised to see his butler beside him. He didn’t even hear him come in.

  “Yes?”

  “The car is ready for you sir.” When Mark looks at him with momentary confusion, Joseph explains, “You have a flight to catch today.”

  “Right.” Mark straightens, quickly recovering his composure. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  “Of course sir, I’ll have Paul load your bags now.” Joseph pauses before he leaves. “Remember to take your medication, sir.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Joseph.”

  The butler exits the room, and Mark walks over to the coffee table, taking the three round pills in the small saucer and washing them down with some water.

  He rubs at the dull ache in his hands.

  He would never want to end up the same way as Nola. So help him God, he’ll end his own life before it happens.

  20

  “This is remarkable, Georgia!” Hank’s usually soft voice is now animated with excitement. “Mr. Lambert will be thrilled. He was disappointed when your search at the Senkaku Islands turned up nothing, but this will definitely please him.”

  Back on the small settee in Amah’s small living room, Georgia is doodling idly on her notepad as she talks to Hank on her phone, rehashing her findings over and over again to make sense of it all. She eyes her grandmother in the kitchen, busy preparing dinner for them both. Her mouth salivates at the wonderful smell.

  “How did you even make the connection in the first place?” Hank asks.

  She shrugs. “I’ve read that book half a dozen times ever since I was a kid. It’s an important text, both in Chinese literature and history. And things just… stick with me, I guess.”

  Earlier today, she sent the black and white photos of Meng Jie and Q. Sun to Hank updating him with her discovery at the library. After the initial elation of the breakthrough, however, she is now left with more questions than answers. This man she is searching for has taken on names from characters of a novel, all of whom share his same unusual feature. But what does that even mean? And why Romance of the Three Kingdoms?

  “I tried to search for more characters in the book who had green eyes,” she says. “I was thinking that maybe this would be a way to locate him. But there are only three in the novel. I will keep digging around to see what I can find out about the donors.”

  “Okay, great,” Hank says. “Keep me in the loop, and let me know if you need anything.”

  Georgia utters her thanks as she hangs up the phone. She turns her attention back to her notes, revisiting the facts before her.

  Donation of Qin Dynasty manuscripts to Gugong Museum by Meng Jie, 1965.

  Donation of various Chinese and Japanese artefacts to Denver Art Museum by Mr. Q. Sun, 1915.

  Donation of Song Dynasty statues and ceramics to British Museum by Yi Lee, 1865.

  She scratches her head. Maybe she is looking at this too closely. Maybe she needs to revisit the novel and look for clues in there. Leaning back in the settee, she looks up as Amah walks into the living room with a tray of food, placing it down on the coffee table.

  “Look, Georgia,” her grandmother says, beaming. “All your favourite dishes today.”

  Georgia lights up, grinning at Amah. She hastily puts down her notebook on the coffee table and accepts a bowl of rice, loading it up with small portions from each dish: three-cup chicken, braised eggplants, and preserved radish omelet. It’s been a while since someone made a home-cooked meal for her. Lucas used to be the designated chef in the house, and Georgia has always been so terrible in the kitchen that she would rather skip meals than attempt making something for herself.

  She eats gluttonously as her grandmother watches her. Amah nods with approval, a smile of satisfaction on her face. After a few moments Amah picks up her own bowl and chopsticks, sneaking a peek at Georgia’s notebook on the table, a subtle gesture that is not missed by Georgia. She is reminded of the many times her grandmother would check her homework over dinner.

  Amah chews on her food, thoughtful. After a while, she asks, “So what happens this year?”

  “Huh?” Georgia says between mouthfuls of food, “What do you mean?”

  Amah gestures at Georgia’s notes. “You’ve got eighteen sixty-five, nineteen fifteen, and nineteen sixty-five scribbled there beside those three names. What’s happening in twenty fifteen?”

  “Sarah. The donations are happening every fifty years,” Georgia says, gripping the phone tighter. “1865, 1915, 1965. The next in the sequence is 2015.”

  Silence ensues on the other end of the line, and Georgia marvels at the fact that Sarah has actually been rendered speechless.

  At Amah’s discovery last night, Georgia sent Sarah a message: Do a worldwide search for museum donations happening THIS YEAR. After a restless night in her hotel bed, Georgia woke early this morning and reached straight for her phone to see if her assistant has any news.

  “And listen,” Georgia continues, speaking faster now. “I found out the three names all came from Romance of the Three Kingdoms. They’re all characters with green eyes.”

  “Fucking hell,” Sarah murmurs. “Just like Hsu Fu.”

  “Yes.” Georgia hammers her fist softly on the table, as if to emphasise her point.

  “They’ve all got to be the same person, Georgia. This can’t just be a random coincidence.”

  “I think so too.” Georgia nods. “Now, did you manage to find any similar donations this year?”

  There is an audible pause on the other end of line. “Yeah,” Sarah finally says, letting out a deep breath. “I did an extensive search, and also called around to see if anyone has heard anything through the grapevine.”

  “And?”

  Sarah clears her throat. “And… uh… there’s obviously quite a few that’s happening around the world. I’m sending you the list I’ve compiled right now. I think you’d find number ten quite uh… interesting.”

  Georgia frowns at Sarah’s now amused tone, unsure what the joke is. She logs into her email account and opens the attachment Sarah has sent her. Scanning down the page, her eyes stops at one particular donation:

  10. National Gallery of Victoria (NGV), Australia. Tang Dynasty paintings on silk and paper. Over 100 items. Anonymous donor.

  Georgia feels a little jolt somewhere deep in her belly. Her pulse quickens.

  “Say Georgia,” Sarah now sings, and Georgia can visualise her assistant twirling a pen playfully in her hand. Sarah always does that when she is in a teasing mood. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t that old flame of yours work at the NGV?”

  “I’ve told you before, he’s not an old flame.” Georgia narrows her eyes. “He’s a school friend and we had one drunken night a long, long time ago. Way before Lucas. I haven’t seen him in years.”

  “Uh-huh,” Sarah murmurs dismissively, and Georgia rolls her eyes as she hears Sarah type rapidly on the keyboard in the background.

  “Well, well. Look at this.” Sarah lets out a whistles. “Looks like he’s recently been appointed the head curator of the Asian art collection. I think you should give him a call.”

  “Hm.” Georgia chews on her lower lip.

  “Yes, hmm,” Georgia can hear Sarah biting back her laughter. “Oh lookie here, I just found a photo of him. Hmm. Maybe I’ll give him a call. He’s quite a looker—”

  Georgia huffs in agitation. She grumbles her goodbyes, hearing Sarah chuckling away as she hangs up the phone.

  21

  Melbourne: home to the National Gallery of Victoria and widely considered the cultural capital of ‘Down Under.’ It is known for its Gold Rush era architecture, international festivals, galleries and theatres, culinary delights, and trendy bars. Ranking as one of the top hipster cities, it is a place where men with immaculately trimmed beards are seen sipping coffee in chic laneway cafes, and where edgy street art decorates the town. The birthplace of Australian footba
ll, its residents are both cosmopolitan and sports-mad.

  It would have been the city Georgia calls home, if its winters were not so bitterly cold and plagued with bouts of vicious polar wind that chills you right to the bone. She is reminded of this fact as she exists the doors of Melbourne Airport, gripping the lapel of her coat to brace herself against the frigid air. Climbing into a taxi, she advises the driver of their destination. Then, leaning back on the headrest, she finally allows her mind to drift to Ethan.

  Ethan is one of her oldest friends; Georgia has vague memories of them playing in the sandpit together in kindergarten. Their families lived one street away from each other in suburban Sydney, and they walked to and from school together every single day. The two were inseparable right from the beginning, a bond created not only from the closeness of their families and their shared common interests, but also by Ethan’s strange sense of protectiveness concerning her since they were little kids. Being the classroom nerd, Georgia received her fair share of bullying at school. She imagines the bullying would have been a lot worse if she didn’t have Ethan hovering around all the time. He was always coming to her aid when she was cornered at the playground, breaking up the fights and picking her up when kids tripped her over.

  When Georgia left high school with an early entry scholarship at Sydney University to follow her passion in archaeology, Ethan continued to be her closest friend because she was the only underage student in the entire class. She was left out of any of the extra-curricular activities that involved drinking—which, really, was pretty much all of them—and couldn’t even join her classmates at the campus tavern for lunch. Nothing spelt outcast more than a kid in university who couldn’t drive or drink or party. Her peers in undergraduate studies were not cruel like the kids she encountered throughout her schooling years, but Georgia still focused all of her efforts on her studies, not only because she loved it, but also for the lack of anything else to do with her time.

  Eventually, Ethan moved to Melbourne to study visual arts when he graduated high school. Despite the distance, they always remained close. That is, until the last few years.

  As the taxi drives along the freeway over the Bolte Bridge, she stares out the window and looks towards the South Wharf, noting the changes to the city since her last visit. There are several buildings she hasn’t seen before, and a brand-new Ferris wheel that reminds her of the London Eye. The sky is overcast with thick clouds, and a light mist hovers in the air, making everything a little fuzzy around the edges. A drizzle of rain begins to wash over the city.

  She swallows, trying to calm the flutter of nerves in her stomach.

  She chides herself for not calling first. After all, Ethan could be busy with work, and this may be a really bad time for him to see her. Or perhaps he’s not even in town. But what was she going to say over the phone, calling him after all these years?

  Hi, it’s been a while. Congratulations on your promotion. By the way, do you mind doing me a favour…?

  No. Ethan deserves more than that. After being such a lousy friend, she really needs to make a personal visit.

  The taxi pulls up at the road side, and Georgia pays the driver as she gets out. Waiting impatiently for the electric trams to trundle past her, she tugs at her bag as she crosses the street towards the large grey building ahead.

  Founded in 1861, the National Gallery of Victoria is the oldest and largest public art museum in Australia. The museum has an encyclopaedic collection of art, its diverse repertoire spanning everything from Australian art and historic artefacts, to international collections including European painting, prints, drawings, fashion and textiles, furniture, Pacific art, and photography. The Asian art collection grew big enough to warrant its own permanent gallery only a couple of years ago, and with its opening Ethan was appointed the head curator of the collection.

  She enters the building, depositing her bags at the cloak room to the right. Then, taking a fortifying breath, she heads to the information desk.

  The young woman sitting behind the counter looks like a graduate fresh out of art school. She has a retro-style, black and white polka dot dress on, and the straight bangs of her obviously dyed black hair don’t quite reach her brows. She puckers her bright red lips as Georgia asks to see Ethan. Her thick-framed spectacles have no lenses, and she pushes them up on the bridge of her nose as she regards Georgia more closely, scanning her from head to toe.

  “And your name is?” she asks Georgia with a slightly cocked brow.

  “Professor Georgia Lee,” Georgia blurts out, feeling strangely defensive under the young woman’s stare. She frowns, realising she doesn’t usually use her title—or even her full name—when she introduces herself.

  “Ethan is out of town,” the woman says, uttering his name as if staking a claim. Her perfect brow arches even higher. “I’m sorry, did you have an appointment?”

  Georgia narrows her eyes, ready to fire back her reply, but is interrupted by a sudden tug on her arm. She looks down to see a perfectly manicured hand slip into the crook of her elbow, and looking up, she gapes at the young man standing beside her. He is a head taller than her, and everything about him is crisp and exact: his fashionable shirt and slacks are starched and neatly pressed, his hipster beard is impeccably groomed, and his dark hair is styled to reflect a wind-blown effect that makes her think of sandy beaches and sunshine.

  “She doesn’t need one,” the man says to the woman behind the counter, his tone mirroring her malevolence. “Professor Lee is always welcome at the NGV.”

  Then he spins Georgia around, walking away with a purposeful stride as he pulls Georgia along. She peers over her shoulder to see the art school graduate watching after them with her mouth hanging open.

  “Sorry about that, Georgia,” the man now says, whispering in a conspiratorial manner. “Belinda has been lusting over Ethan ever since she got here. Not that I can blame her.” He winks at her. “‘Cause damn, that man has a fine arse on him, you know what I’m sayin’?”

  He guffaws with humour when her face is engulfed by a searing heat. Leading her into the elevator, he presses for the third floor. “Come to my office, I’ll make you a cup of tea. Your darling assistant called me this morning, said you’d be paying us a visit.”

  “Max.” Finding her words at last, Georgia coughs out an incredulous laugh. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “I work here now, sweetheart,” he drawls, “thanks to your glowing letter of recommendation. Ethan took one look at that and hired me straight away.”

  Max is an art conservation PhD graduate who did a three-month internship with Georgia early last year, restoring some fragmented ceramics she had uncovered. Their work together had formed the final pieces of the puzzle that ultimately led her to the site of the ancient tomb in China.

  “I had no idea,” she says.

  “Yeah, I had no idea that you and Ethan were childhood sweethearts until after I got the job.” Max wiggles his eyebrows dramatically. “I would have asked for higher pay if I’d known.”

  Unable to stop blushing, Georgia wants to deny what he’s implying but cannot seem to conjure a comeback. So she asks instead, “Is Ethan really out of town?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, hun, you just missed him. He left on a last minute trip to Taipei yesterday,” Max explains. The elevator pings and they head towards his office. The term ‘office’ is more of an overstatement, because what she finds herself in is more of a closet with a work desk and a bookshelf crammed into the small space. At Max’s prompting, she sits down in the only chair in the room. He lightly taps a finger on his lips as he considers a row of jars across the top of his bookshelf. “Now. I got pu-erh tea, you like that, right?”

  “What…? Oh, yeah,” she says, frowning as she watches him prepare the tea. “Um—what’s Ethan doing in Taipei?”

  Max sucks in a breath, spinning around abruptly on his heels to face her. The wide grin and the brightness of his eyes are something she has not seen since he last
showed her a pair of vintage Prada shoes he’d found on eBay. “Oh. My. God. Georgia, you are just going to die when you see this fabulous collection of Tang Dynasty paintings that was donated to us,” he gushes, forgetting all about the tea and putting a hand on her shoulder as he brings out his smartphone, scrolling through his photographs. “I was in gay heaven when Ethan put me on the team. You know how I just love that period of Chinese history.”

  “Yeah, it’s one of my favourites too,” she says, confused about the sudden change of subject, “but—”

  “This.” He places the phone in her hand. “This is my favourite of them all.”

  She looks down at the image on the screen. It is a painting mounted in a traditional Chinese scroll format, depicting Tang court women in a garden. On a normal day, she would have appreciated the delicate beauty of the work, noting the details depicted in the dresses and the faces of the women. But right now, she can’t seem to focus her mind on the image before her.

  Max is talking quickly now. “The whole thing has been a logistical nightmare for us right from the beginning. I won’t bore you with the details, but you know, this is going to be the most important Asian collection exhibition at the NGV ever. Ethan’s really fallen in love with the works and wants to make sure he does everything right. We’ve all been working like dogs just to meet the deadline.” He gives a wave of his hand and shakes his head. “Anyway, cut a long story short, we decided to show the collection in two parts. The first part of the show opens tonight. The second part is about to be shipped from Taipei but there’s been some last minute booboo made by our Cathy, who’s over there documenting the works. So, going back to your question before, Ethan is in Taipei putting out last minute fires before the paintings are crated and sent over here.”