The Imperial Alchemist

by A. H. Wang

  “Oops!” Misty’s voice dripped with sarcasm as she saw Ethan emerge, her hand flying to her mouth in mock remorse. “Watch where you’re going, Georgia. Don’t want to wreck your precious books.” Then, staring at him, she tossed her curly brown hair. “Hi, Ethan.”

  Misty shrugged a shoulder to her posse of girlfriends standing around the circle, and they sauntered off, the girls still dishing out insults like “bookworm” and “teacher’s pet” towards their victim. Clenching his fists tightly, Ethan glared after them with growing hatred.

  “You okay?” He helped Georgia up, gathering her books and brushing the grass and dirt off the covers. Georgia smoothed her long black hair with shaky hands and looked down at her dress, tears glistening in her big brown eyes.

  “My mom’s gonna kill me. She told me not to make it dirty,” she said, her lower lip trembling as she tried to hold back her tears.

  “Don’t worry about the dress,” he said. “And don’t worry about Misty. They’re just jealous of you ‘cause you’re the smartest girl in class.”

  “Nah,” she replied, wiping a stray tear from her flushed cheek with the back of her hand. She sniffled softly. “Misty’s jealous ‘cause you’re my friend. She likes you, der-brain.”

  He gaped at the revelation, defensively stammering an awkward, “No, she doesn’t!” But Georgia’s conviction made her completely unconcerned with his protest. He handed her the books, and put an arm across her shoulder as if she was one of the boys instead.

  “Well, George,” he declared whole heartedly, puffing out his chest. “Misty will just have to get used to it.”

  The radiant smile that spread across her face shocked him to the core, and his heart did something funny in his chest. He decided then that he’d do anything to see that smile again.

  Ethan spots her now, coming down the escalator with the phone to her ear. She seems to be in deep discussion with whoever is on the phone. She steps off the escalator as she reaches the ground floor, standing next to the marble water fountain and finishing her conversation. He watches as she hangs up, a frown marring her near-perfect face as she stares down at the phone. Her chest heaves with a long sigh. She’s obviously not pleased with whoever she was speaking to.

  Then, after what seems like forever, Georgia finally looks up, meeting his gaze from across the foyer. Ethan’s chest blooms with warmth as her frown is instantly transformed into a luminous smile. He beams, waving at her, his breath leaving him as he watches her walk—no, skip—towards him.

  “Hi.” She stops just short of running into him, now almost shy as she looks up at his face.

  “Hey, George.” That is his name for her—always George, or G—never Georgia. He likes the fact nobody else ever calls her that.

  Grinning from ear to ear, he pulls her up for a bear hug, lifting her a foot off the floor. She squeals in delight, laughing with surprise, both of them transported back in time to their childhood days.

  “Oh, Ethan,” she whispers, holding on to him as he puts her back on the ground. “It’s so good to see you. It’s been too long.”

  Ethan breathes in the familiar intoxicating scent of honey in her hair, and he’s suddenly aware of the soft crush of her breasts against his chest. He clenches his jaws to stop himself from the urge to pull her even closer.

  Get a grip, mate.

  Clearing his throat, he pulls back, holding her at arm’s length. “Yes, it has,” he says, “let me have a good look at you, G.”

  He scans her face, hands still gripping the sides of her arms. Her hair is longer. Her high cheekbones are slightly more defined than before. The years have made their mark with fine lines around her mouth and her eyes, and a few extra tiny freckles are now sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. But the unmistakable, intelligent, fierce passion still blazes in her eyes.

  She is still the same Georgia, his Georgia. The next-door girl he has always known. And she is still devastatingly beautiful after all these years.

  “You look good, George,” he announces decidedly, finally letting go.

  She laughs, the light-hearted sound tickling his chest. A blush colours her high cheek bones. “So do you.” She takes a self-conscious step back, giving him a playful punch on the arm.

  “So, moving up in the world, eh, G?” He gestures around them. “This is pretty fancy where you’re staying. Either you found yourself a new career, or your department got some secret funding that no one else managed to get their hands on.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “No, I’m on a private job actually. The client has a taste for luxury.”

  He raises an inquisitive eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, he ruffles the top of her hair, putting his arm across her shoulder as he has always done since they were kids. Guiding her towards the exit, he says, “Well, what do you say we get outta here and find some real Taiwanese food, and you can tell me all about it.”

  25

  They end up at Shilin night market, Georgia wanting to show Ethan a selection of the quintessential Taiwanese street food: little sausage in big sausage, giant deep fried chicken schnitzels, pork belly buns, scallion pancakes, and of course, the famous bubble tea in all possible flavours.

  Considered the largest and most famous night market in Taipei, Shilin contains mostly food vendors and small restaurants, with surrounding shops selling clothes, shoes, accessories, and various knick-knacks and souvenirs. It’s a steaming hot night, and the place is bursting with people, but neither Georgia nor Ethan would have it any other way. Both having spent much time around the developing countries of Asia, they consider street food to be the most authentic and delicious cuisine a country can offer. More than that, it provides an in-depth insight into the culture of its people.

  Georgia and Ethan move from stall to stall, grazing through their progressive dinner, putting away copious amounts of food as if it is an eating competition. After placing their order at what must be the fifteenth stall they’ve been to, they sit down at a crowded table side-by-side, and crack open a couple of beers.

  Ethan leans back in the plastic chair and takes long swigs, obviously in high spirits. He’s wearing a T-shirt that matches the soft blue of his eyes, the fabric pulled taught against his defined chest and muscular biceps. Georgia swallows her drink as she gazes at her friend, noting the changes since their last meeting: the few specs of silver in his sandy blond hair, the cleanly shaved, perfectly chiselled face where there was once a bushy beard, and the lines around his eyes whenever he flashes his trademark dimpled grin at her. She feels her heart flutter and briefly wonders how their friendship could have remained platonic all these years. Then she shakes her head, pushing the idea away. She reminds herself that ever since they were little Ethan has treated her more as a brother than a member of the opposite sex, always roughing around and hell bent on getting a rise out of her. She is, and has always been, his best friend—nothing more.

  Except for that one night, so many years ago. But really, it doesn’t count when there was so much alcohol involved.

  “So.” Ethan flicks the beer bottle cap in her direction to break her out of her musings. “What are the odds that we both end up in Taipei at the same time?”

  She shrugs, trying to make light of the apparent coincidence. “I was in Melbourne on the way to Taipei, so I came by to the NGV to say hi, but Max said that you were already here.” She loathes having to lie to him. “I’m just chasing up some leads on this private job for a client. The Gugong Museum has been very helpful.”

  Ethan’s face brightens with interest. “Tell me about this job. Was it the client you were on the phone with at the hotel?”

  “No.” Her heart drops, the smile on her face fading. “No, that was Lucas.”

  His brows furrow. “Everything okay?”

  She sighs, not wanting to go into it again. Shaking her head, she admits, “We’re getting divorced.”

  “Shit.” Ethan’s face scrunches up with worry. “I’m sorry to hear that, Georg
e.”

  “Yeah, we’ve been separated for a long time now,” she replies, taking another gulp of her beer. “But I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  He studies her for a long moment. “Look, George, I’ve been meaning to say that I’m sorry. I know things have been tough for you. I really wish I could have been around more.” He rakes a hand through his sandy blond hair, looking uncomfortable. “I should have… done more.”

  She shakes her head, giving him a wry smile. “There’s nothing anyone could have done. I’m sorry that I haven’t been in touch all these years. I just… I needed time.”

  “Of course.” He nods, reaching over to draw her close. She feels the brush of his lips on the top of her head, and her heart goes into overdrive.

  With perfect timing, the middle-aged stall owner serves up their food. Ethan straightens and lets go of Georgia. He gives the older woman his most charming smile, who enthusiastically explains each dish to him in broken English.

  “Stinky tofu, good, very good.” She sticks up her thumb with pride. “Oyster omelette. You try. Good.”

  “Xie xie,” he thanks the older woman in Chinese.

  “You speak Chinese! Good!” The stall owner walks away giggling, looking a little flustered.

  Georgia rolls her eyes at Ethan, knowing that ‘thank you’ is the only word he knows in the language. “Oh, I bet you just love being a foreigner in Taiwan.”

  “Hey, it’s not every day I get treated like a celebrity. Give the man a break. Let me live a little.” He winks at her.

  “Yeah, just don’t charm the pants off every stall owner we walk past,” she retorts.

  “Jealous much? G, you’re still my favourite Taiwanese here, I wouldn’t worry.”

  She narrows her eyes at him and ignores his chortle, grabbing some chopsticks and digging into the food. Then she pauses to watch Ethan’s face as he picks up a piece of the stinky tofu and puts it in his mouth, chewing on it hesitantly. Stinky tofu is one of the local delicacies here, and as the name suggests, the fermentation process makes it smell of something akin to dirty socks. Most tourists steer away as soon as they encounter the pungent odour, but she wanted Ethan to try the dish because no culinary experience in Taiwan is complete without it.

  And also, perhaps, for the joy of seeing him gag at the stench.

  “Well?” she asks, waiting for his verdict, puzzled at his mild reaction.

  “Well.” He swallows and blinks as if surprised. A myriad of expressions crosses his features before he answers. “I don’t hate it. It’s actually pretty good—definitely tastes a lot better than it smells.”

  She laughs, an unexpected pleasure swelling in her chest. They fall into an easy and casual conversation, catching up on all that has happened in each other’s lives since they last met. She smiles widely as Ethan chats at length about his new role at the NGV, already feeling giddy from the beer in her hand. She realises—for the first time in a long, long while—that she is actually enjoying herself.

  “So,” Georgia says after they finish their food and move on to a shaved ice dessert stall. “How are things on the love front? Seeing anyone at the moment?”

  Ethan gives a non-committal shrug. “Here and there, nothing serious.”

  “Belinda at the NGV seems to really like you,” she presses, digging into her mango shaved ice lathered with a generous topping of condensed milk. When Ethan doesn’t respond, she looks over at him, and is met with a lopsided grin.

  “What?” She frowns.

  “You are jealous, aren’t you?” He cocks a brow, his grin getting impossibly wider.

  “No,” she scoffs. “I’m just saying that the girl almost bit my head off for asking to see you. Really, you can’t have her respond that way to every visitor coming to the gallery. It’s a good thing Max came to my rescue in time.”

  “Max told me you saw our latest collection at the gallery,” he says in response, and she’s not unaware of his less-than-tactful change of subject. She shrugs, deciding to drop it.

  “I did.” She smiles. “Oh, Ethan, it’s so beautiful. You did an amazing job curating it.”

  “You think so?” He beams. “I can’t believe in our luck, getting this donation. These works really belong to something like the National Palace Museum in Taiwan.”

  She nods in agreement. “Hey listen, I know it’s a big ask, but do you think you can put me in touch with the donor?”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Actually, I can’t. The donor wants to remain anonymous. You know how these things work, G.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she persists, “but can’t you maybe just ask him to call me?”

  He frowns, looking suspicious. “What’s all this about, George?”

  She gives him a nonchalant shrug. “Those paintings might give me some clues to the private job I’m on right now. I just wanted to ask him some questions about the collection, that’s all. It could be the break I’m hoping for.”

  “What is this job that you are on? What exactly are you looking for?”

  “I can’t tell you, Ethan, I’m sorry,” she says, yet she cannot help the excitement from seeping into her voice as she tells him, “But it could possibly be the greatest discovery of mankind.”

  “That’s a big call.” He looks at her for a long while, then shakes his head as if in defeat when she doesn’t say anymore. “But I know you, and you’re not one to exaggerate things. What are you getting yourself involved in, George?”

  He takes a long drink of his beer, and Georgia wonders if this is the fifth or the sixth drink they are on. She has already lost count.

  “The best I can do,” he finally says, “is to let him know my best friend is a big fan of the Tang Dynasty. I’ll tell him you’re an archaeologist and that you’d like to ask him about the collection. But all I can do is suggest this to him, and ultimately it’s up to him if he meets with you or not. And knowing how private he is, I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

  She claps her hands together. “That’ll be amazing. Thanks so much.” She reaches over to give him a hug. “When will you be speaking to him again?”

  “Tomorrow,” Ethan replies. “That’s part of the reason I’m here. We’re meeting for lunch tomorrow to go over some final paperwork for the donation.”

  The bald, stocky man watches them closely as he pretends to queue for food at the next stall down the street. Ire simmers steadily in his veins as he feels sweat drip down his bare scalp, trickling over his neck and down the length of his back. He hates being anywhere near the subtropics in summer. This sweltering heat—sticky, relentless, and suffocating—can turn any civil man into an animal.

  He strains to hear the couple’s conversation, but the crowded night market makes it impossible to catch anything beyond a few fragmented words. Their body language tells him enough, though. He blinks with surprise as the professor throws her head back in hearty laughter at some joke her friend has told. She touches her companion’s arm, and there her hand lingers as she accepts what must be her fifth beer.

  This is a side of her that the man has never witnessed before: this unrestrained, carefree version of a woman who is even more tantalising than her usual solemn self. And judging from the look on her companion’s face, he is not entirely immune to her charm.

  The man scratches the long scar beneath his goatee with irritation, studying this friend of Georgia’s—the one she refers to as Ethan. Late thirties, tall, and athletically built, the blue-eyed Adonis has a mischievous, boyish grin that will entice the panties off any of the local girls that he comes across. He certainly is drawing a lot of looks around the stall, from both the women and the men. But Ethan’s attention seems to be solely focused on Georgia. Whatever their conversation is about, he is fully engrossed in everything the professor has to say.

  He observes quietly as Ethan stands to pay for their food and drinks, gathering themselves to leave the stall. Ethan drapes his arm protectively over Georgia’s slender shoulders, and they walk straight past the
bald man, oblivious to his existence.

  As they walk on into the crowded market, the watcher catches Georgia’s excited squeal, her words loud and laced with an intoxicated slur: “I know! How’s this for the essential Taipei experience—let’s go karaoke!”

  The watcher frowns. This is the kind of distraction that Georgia does not need right now.

  26

  Light filters through the sheer curtains of the room and shines directly on her closed eyelids, rousing her from elusive dreams. Georgia stirs, groaning as she turns away from the day, her head protesting the movement with a sharp, jarring pain.

  Exhaustion pervades her entire body, and yet, her mind is now refusing to drift back to sleep. Her eyes still closed, she sorts through the confused haze of her brain to remember who she is, where she is, and why there is an insistent, relentless pounding inside her skull.

  Flashes of last night’s memories come trickling back: a long-overdue mates-night-out that got very messy very quickly as empty beer bottles accumulated and gave way to drained shot glasses at the karaoke bar. She vaguely remembers very bad, very loud singing from Ethan. Georgia chuckles now at the image, and groans again when her head rewards her with another bout of searing pain.

  “Mornin’,” a deep voice says next to her.

  Her eyes fly open. She finds herself in an unfamiliar room, on an unknown bed. She blinks when she realises that she is looking at Ethan, lying next to her.

  Naked.

  She blinks again. Her jaw drops open. Her eyes travel across the bare expanse of his broad chest, his defined abs, and the thin sheet covering him below the waist. Then, more memories of last night come flooding back.

  Drunk and acting like a couple of school kids, they made a spectacle of themselves at the karaoke bar. She guffawed over Ethan’s dramatic and hilarious performance of ‘Kiss’ by the artist formerly known as Prince. She sang her heart out and her throat raw with Alicia Keys’ ‘If I Ain’t Got You.’ And they even received a standing ovation to their duo rendition of Aqua’s ‘Barbie Girl.’ Then, when they ran out of English songs to torture their audience with, Georgia wailed about having the sudden and irrepressible urge to dance.