The Imperial Alchemist

by A. H. Wang

  It was the donor who suggested the place and made the booking for them, and Ethan can see why. There aren’t many customers here on a weekday, and their table is located in a separate nook that offers the privacy that the donor prefers.

  He takes out the paper work in his briefcase, anxious to get this lunch over with so he can see Georgia again.

  28

  It is now 12:40, ten minutes after Ethan’s scheduled lunch, and she is hoping that they are already seated. She does not want the awkwardness of running into them face-to-face outside the door.

  Georgia finds a bench not far down the corridor from Golden Dragon Restaurant and sits down, pretending to be reading on her phone whilst keeping an eye on the trickling of people walking up the short flight of steps into the entrance. For the hundredth time since finding out about the location of Ethan’s lunch, she starts having serious doubts about coming here.

  She really has not planned this out at all: she is sitting outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of this anonymous donor, but she cannot see inside the restaurant unless she walks up the steps leading to its entrance. If she does that, she risks being seen by the patrons inside. What if Ethan sees her? She does not want that to happen. She has not even thought to disguise her appearance to avoid being recognised.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Guilt grips her, and she considers leaving. She is being ridiculous, staking out like this. She’s a respected archaeologist, for God’s sake, not a private detective. Besides, Ethan has already promised to make the request on her behalf. What would he say if he realises she had gone through his stuff, and that she is stalking him like this?

  No. This is wrong. She shakes her head, gathering her bag to leave. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she sees a figure pass by.

  She looks up, and instinctively she knows without a doubt that it is him.

  A tall, wraith-like figure, he walks swiftly in wide strides, unhurried and yet efficient; there is a sense of weightlessness about him. Even from this distance she can sense there is something different about this man—an air of… she’s not sure what. She feels pins and needles all over her scalp, and she looks down her arm to discover she has broken out in goosebumps.

  She only catches a glimpse of the side of his face as he seems to float up the steps towards the restaurant entrance. Then he turns away, addressing the maître d’ at the door.

  Georgia stands abruptly, then hesitates, unsure of what to do. Deep down, she did not expect to see this man at all, not really. Up until now he has been a mere hypothesis, a ghost from Lambert’s fantasies that she has chased from Japan to Taipei to Melbourne and then back again. But now that he is here, really here, Georgia realises she is at a loss as to how to approach this. She watches the maître d’ talk to the tall man as if she is familiar with him. The older woman laughs candidly at something he has said, and they make some more idle chit-chat before the woman turns, gesturing for him to follow her. But before he enters and disappears from Georgia’s sight, he pauses, tilting his head to the side as if listening to someone whispering in his ear.

  Then, as if sensing her presence, the man turns his face to look at her.

  Her breath catches in her throat, and her heartbeat hastens. She notes his narrow face, square jaws, and the aquiline nose. She takes in the almond-shaped, brilliant green eyes. It is him, all right; no question about it. He looks different with his shoulder-length matted hair, and there is something scraggly about this version of him, but he is the man in the photograph at the Gugong Museum, the same one who made the donation in Denver a century ago, and the same face she saw amidst the crowd at the Melbourne NGV.

  He holds her gaze with those strangely hypnotic eyes for what seems like minutes, and she gets the ridiculous notion that somehow he knows her, that he is looking straight into her soul. Her lips part as if to speak, and yet she utters no words. She forgets to even blink.

  And then, just as quickly as he turned to look at her, he turns away again and walks with the maître d’ into the restaurant.

  The air suddenly seems to have been sucked out of the room.

  The spell broken, Georgia stumbles to the nearby exit, bursting through the automatic sliding doors and into the humid heat outside, her hands on her knees as she takes in big gulps of air. Her whole body trembles despite the warmth. A couple walks past her, looking at her with curiosity. The valet attendant approaches with concern.

  “Are you okay, miss?” he asks.

  “Yes,” she responds in Chinese, waving off his extended hand. “Just need some fresh air.”

  It takes her a long while to calm herself down, and she sits on a bench to try and think things through. Her mind is racing, and she cannot think of what to do next. The image of the man’s eyes has been burned into her mind.

  She cannot go into the restaurant. Ethan is there, having lunch with the man. But she cannot just walk away, either. Now that she knows he is real, she cannot simply leave and not ask all the thousands of questions that are threatening to burst out of her.

  Should she wait outside until they finish, with the hope of approaching the man then? Or should she just call Lambert now and hope he will know what to do? Georgia feels totally out of her depth here.

  Suddenly, a new thought occurs to her and anxiety ripples through her stomach: What if he recognised her from the NGV opening, and realises she is tracking him?

  What if he has already left?

  She stands quickly, spinning around to go back into the building. She is stopped short when she runs straight into someone coming out the door.

  “Sorry—” she begins, looking up at the stranger. When she sees his face, her mouth goes dry.

  “Hello, Georgia.” He smiles.

  29

  Georgia stares at the man before her: the person she has been searching for over the past two months. Her eyes roam over his long, matted hair, the facial features she has already committed to memory, and those piercing eyes that look like emeralds in this light. Everything about him appears to be elongated: his neck, his torso, his long slender limbs. His waifish appearance is accentuated by his white linen hippy attire: the wide slacks and top hanging loosely as if they would blow off his thin frame at the slightest hint of a breeze. And yet, he stands like a man in full command of his body, from his head to his feet. He seems to be towering over her at this close proximity.

  He’s got to be, what, over six feet tall?

  She feels dizzy. Taking an unsteady step back, she tries to compose herself.

  What is wrong with me?

  She sees that he is looking at her, expecting her to speak.

  “Hello,” she finally manages to utter. Then, as realisation dawns, she frowns. “How do you know my name?”

  The corners of his eyes crinkle as his smile broadens. “Have you not been trying to contact me since you got here? Your friend, Ethan, was just saying you wanted to meet with me.”

  Her frown deepens at his cryptic answer, but she swallows the deluge of questions erupting from within. Straightening up to meet his steady gaze, she tries on the most charming smile she can muster.

  “What’s your name?” she asks the stranger.

  He laughs, a deep rumble in his chest. “Oh, I have had many of those.” He nods at her. “You know some of them, I am sure.”

  “Meng Jie?” Georgia asks.

  He nods, cocking his head in amusement.

  “Quan Sun.”

  He smiles his assent once more.

  “Hsu Fu?” Her voice escalates in spite of herself. She suddenly feels faint.

  The valet attendant by the door looks over at Georgia’s outburst, curious of the drama unravelling.

  The stranger catches her by the elbow as she begins to sway. “How about we talk about this somewhere more private?” he suggests gently.

  She gives him a weak nod, following him as if in a trance while he leads her back through the sliding doors into the hotel. He guides her back to the bench where she was si
tting before he showed up at the restaurant.

  “Sit here,” he says. “I will be back promptly.”

  Worried that he will abandon her here, she gives him a questioning look. He chuckles softly as if reading her mind. “I am sorry, Georgia, but you caught me by surprise today. Trust me, I did not want to meet you under these circumstances. I know you have a lot of questions and they will all be answered in time, I promise. But this is not where we should be having this conversation. I am good friends with the manager here and I am going to ask her for a space in the building so that we can have some privacy… unless you have other suggestions?” He cocks his head again, his eyes kind.

  “No,” she says. “That sounds… good.”

  He gives her a quick nod, turning to walk away.

  “Wait.”

  He looks at her again.

  “You still haven’t answered my question,” she says. At his raised brow, she explains, “You still haven’t told me your name.”

  Amusement gleams his eyes. “I go by Charlie these days. You can call me that if you like.”

  Then he turns and disappears down the corridor silently.

  “Subject has made contact, sir. We’re ready to move in.”

  His grip tightens on the phone. A smile radiates across his face.

  About fucking time.

  “Awaiting your instructions, sir.”

  He barks his orders at the phone, “Hold off for now and observe. Let’s wait until they’re out of the public eye. I want this job clean and discreet. No loose ends.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And keep your weapons stowed. I need the professor unharmed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Make sure you station your men at all exits of the building. We may never get an opportunity like this again.”

  “Copy that, sir.”

  He smiles again, leaning back in the seat of his car. He is so close, so close to getting everything he has ever wanted for as long as he can remember.

  “Well done, Professor Lee,” he murmurs. “You have proven yourself to be very useful.”

  30

  When he returns to the bench in the corridor, Georgia is sitting in the exact spot he left her, deep in thought, her crossed legs jiggling anxiously. At the sight of him, she stands quickly, relief evident in her eyes. He has never seen her so unsettled before.

  “Charlie,” she says when he reaches her, as if to practise articulating his name.

  He gives her a warm smile, holding up the key to show her. “The manager gave us a room so we can talk properly. Is that okay with you?”

  He watches Georgia hesitate briefly. Then, determination flickering across her dark eyes, she gives him a firm nod. Together, they head towards the elevator down the corridor, and he presses the button for the sixth floor.

  “What about Ethan?” she asks. “I thought you were meeting with him to go through some paperwork?”

  He laughs, understanding dawning within him. “Ah, I should not have been surprised. That is how you tracked me down. I suppose you are best friends after all.”

  “No.” A line forms between her brows. “Ethan didn’t tell me anything, I swear. He doesn’t even know I’m here. I—I went through his organiser to find out where you were meeting and came here myself. I was just hoping to catch a glimpse of you, just to make sure—”

  “Just to make sure that the legends are not true?”

  She purses her lips. “Yeah.”

  He chuckles again. “Well, they are. Some of them anyway. But we will get to that later. And do not worry about Ethan. We took care of everything within five minutes. I told him something last minute has come up and I needed to go. He seemed happy I was cutting this short anyway—something about a girl he needs to talk to?”

  Her cheeks flush at this, and she looks down to avoid his gaze, so he does not press her on the matter. Up close, she is even more beautiful to behold. It is not difficult to see why Ethan is so obviously enamoured of her—Charlie could tell just by the way the younger man uttered her name. But the professor is endowed with more than just good looks. Charlie considers the way she has tracked him down, and decides that probably very little escapes her scrutiny.

  He will have to handle this very, very carefully.

  The elevator pings, and they walk down the carpeted corridor in silence, quickly locating the room. He slides the key into the door, hearing the soft click of the lock, and pushes it open. Lights and the air conditioning kick in as he places the key card in its designated slot on the wall. Charlie surveys the space. They are in a small suite; a king size bed dominates most of the room, which also contains a small round table and a couple of arm chairs. Sheer curtains veil the sliding doors that lead out to the balcony.

  This will do.

  “Please have a seat, Georgia.”

  Walking over to the mini bar fridge, he offers her a bottle of water as she settles down in one of the arm chairs. He does not miss the slight tremble in her hand as she takes it from him. Giving her some space, he walks over to the sliding door to look out over the balcony, ruminating over all of the things that need to be said.

  After a long period of silence, with his back still turned to her, he speaks. “As I was explaining before, I know you have been trying to contact me since you got here. The people at Gugong Museum sent me your letter. So, of course, I looked you up too.”

  “You were the one at the NGV opening,” says Georgia. “You were the one I saw through the crowd.”

  “Yes. You caught me by surprise there, too. I went to the exhibition to see what the paintings looked like in the gallery. They always seem so different when they are presented in that context. I did not expect you to be there.” He pauses, turning to meet her gaze. “I guess we do not have to go through how you found me. You must have seen my photograph at the Gugong exhibition since you were asking about Meng Jie, and at the Denver Museum too if you know about Quan Sun. My question to you, though, is what prompted you to start digging? How did you know to search for my existence at all?”

  Georgia takes a deep breath, holding his steady gaze as he walks over to sit down in the other chair. When she starts speaking, her words are remarkably candid as she tells him of Mark Lambert, the oracle bone, the ancient Hata scroll, and Wang Jian’s descriptions of his search for Hsu Fu. She recounts each finding that led her to this room with him, and his heart fills with dread as he listens to her story. Everything he has been trying to avoid for so long seems to be inevitable now.

  When she finishes her tale, it is his turn to take a deep breath. He exhales with a long sigh.

  “This Lambert,” he asks, “does he know that you are here? That you have found me?”

  “No,” she answers. “The closer I got to you, the less I wanted to tell him.”

  “Why?”

  She blinks, considering this. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to quite believe this whole thing myself. But when it started looking like it may be true…” She shrugs. “Would you tell a person you were close to finding what he wanted, if you suspected that he may not have good intentions for his prize?”

  “No, I suppose I would not,” he affirms. “You do not trust him.”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “I guess I need more time to process things before deciding what to do with… this.”

  He nods, considering his next words. “I assume Lambert has persuaded you to go on this search in the first place because he promised to find a cure for all diseases for mankind.”

  “Well, he did—” she starts.

  “And he probably succeeded,” Charlie continues, “when he mentioned that he would cure infant mortality, too.”

  A deep frown knits Georgia’s brows.

  He sighs, remorse filling him. He speaks with more gentleness as he reveals: “My boy had the same thing, Eisenmenger Syndrome. I know what it feels like to sit at your child’s bedside, watching each breath he takes, praying that it will not be his last. To hold his hand, tr
ying to memorise what it feels like… so you will never forget. That kind of experience can drive a parent to try anything, believe anything, if only they could save their child.”

  She flinches as if he has kicked her in the gut. “How—how did you—”

  He shakes his head, looking away. “I will get to that later. But first, Georgia, you asked me a question earlier that I have not answered yet.”

  There is a moment of silence. Then, she says, “Are you Hsu Fu?”

  Charlie opens his mouth to answer her, but a knock on the door interrupts him.

  He frowns, his body stiffening. Lowering his voice, he asks Georgia, “No one knows you are here?”

  “No,” she says, looking equally surprised.

  Rising from the chair, he walks silently to the door to look through the peep hole. The distorted view shows nothing but the empty corridor outside, and yet the back of his skull tingles with intensity. The realisation washes over him like a bucket of ice.

  This is a trap.

  31

  “What’s wrong? Who is it?” Alarmed at Charlie’s stiff posture, Georgia stands, an inexplicable fear rising within her.

  Charlie turns away from the door and crosses the distance between them in a few strides. Taking Georgia by the hand, he pulls her towards the window.

  “You have been followed,” he says in a hushed tone. “I should have foreseen this.”

  “Followed? By who?”

  The knock sounds again, louder this time. Ignoring her question, he opens the sliding door and steps onto the balcony. She looks out to the large, tiled area that encircles the entire outside of the building, seeing it is shared with all the adjoining guest rooms. There are one-metre-high Chinese-style balustrades that partition off private spaces for each room.