The Imperial Alchemist

by A. H. Wang

  “Your friend will be there?” she asks, her tone softening slightly.

  “I doubt it,” replies Charlie. “He is hardly ever in the country. But he is happy for me to use the place whenever I like.”

  Georgia opens her mouth, only to close it again. Then, she whispers, “Are you Hsu Fu?”

  Charlie takes a breath before answering; it feels so strange to hear that name spoken aloud.

  “Yes,” he finally replies. “A long, long time ago.”

  “Prove it.”

  He snaps his gaze to her, and seeing the resolve in her eyes, he smiles. Keeping an eye on the road ahead, he reaches for the car cigarette lighter, pushing it in to activate the burner.

  “What’re you doing?” she asks.

  “I am going to prove it to you.”

  Georgia looks as if she is about to say something else, but frowns in silence instead. After a long minute, the lighter pops back up in its slot. Charlie grabs the knob with one hand, keeping the other on the wheel.

  “Okay.” He breathes. “I am only going to do this once, so watch carefully.”

  Gritting his teeth against the searing pain, he presses the burner against the back of his hand on the wheel. The hiss and smell of burnt flesh fills the air in the enclosed space. Beside him, Georgia is watching in silent horror, her mouth agape.

  “This is going to be the neatest party trick you have ever seen,” he jokes, and is rewarded with an apprehensive stare.

  His attention back on the road, Charlie extends the injured hand towards Georgia to let her see the evidence she has requested. Already, the area of the burn has gone numb. Over the next minute, the tissues around the region will work to repair themselves until all trace of the wound has disappeared.

  Even from the corner of his eye, Charlie notices Georgia’s face blanch as she stares at his outstretched hand. She looks as if she is about to be sick. Charlie is half expecting her to actually throw up as she absorbs the implications of what he is unveiling, and he contemplates pulling into the emergency lane. But his level of respect for Georgia is raised another notch when he sees her swallow thickly, quickly regaining her composure to turn towards him.

  “How the…” she whispers. “How?”

  “Ah. Where shall I begin?”

  “Start from the beginning,” Georgia urges.

  “Very well.” Briefly closing his eyes, he exhales. “I was born in the ancient Chinese state of Qi,” he confesses, feeling something unravelling within him.

  As Charlie begins to recount his personal history for the very first time, his mind turns to the years he has not allowed himself to ponder on for so long. He thinks of the Hata scroll that Georgia described, and he can almost sense the ghosts of Emperor Qin, Wang Jian, and Naaya surround him. Charlie feels himself pulled by their familiar presence—these people whose very actions have shaped his destiny—and he finally gives in, drifting back to those fateful events that made him the person he is today.

  35

  211 BCE, Japan

  Hsu Fu cast a backward glance as he hurried along, climbing uphill through the forest. Stumbling over some protruding tree roots, he frantically grabbed the trunk to regain his balance. The rough surface cut into the skin of his palm, but he did not even feel the pain. He was feeling very little at this point.

  Very little except for the terror consuming his entire being.

  He paused to look behind him, feeling certain he had made a clean escape. The sun was directly overhead now, its harsh rays beaming down through the foliage of the trees, a reminder that he had been half running, half walking without pause since before dawn.

  Hearing the trickle of water, Hsu Fu quickened his pace in spite of his protesting limbs. After a few more minutes following the sound, he was rewarded with the sight of a small stream through the trees. He scrambled to the edge of the water and fell to his knees, guzzling with frenzy.

  His stomach full of the cool liquid, Hsu Fu fell on his back, gulping for air. Here in the silence of the forest, he felt both sated and exhausted as he tried to assess the situation and consider his options. For the first time since he was captured by Wang Jian, a swell of emotions rose within his chest. Despite efforts to swallow it back down, it erupted out of his throat in the form of a strangled sound. Hsu Fu began to sob uncontrollably, his body convulsing with tremors. His outburst echoed through the trees.

  It took a long time to calm himself down. His diaphragm still spasming, Hsu Fu wiped at his nose with tattered sleeves as he fought hard to think of what to do next. Rising, he took off his clothes—or what was left of them—to soak the bloody fabric in the stream, wiping at the stains on his face and body. What a sight he must be right now, with three days of blood caked all over him. That murderous Lu Hsing, the general’s interrogator, was relentless with each session of torture, carving at Hsu Fu’s flesh day after day: slowly, mercilessly, taking care to avoid major arteries that would kill immediately. But even the bloodthirsty fiend began to tire when Hsu Fu continued to heal every day. The general, however, seemed to have stomach for more.

  It had taken Hsu Fu most of last night to break free of the bonds that Wang Jian’s men had put him in. He had to dislocate both of his shoulders, the rough lengths of rope digging into his flesh as he tried to struggle out of them. The bastards had fastened them tightly, and his wrists still burned at the memory of his restraints. He rubbed at the now-unblemished joints self-consciously, as images of his torture came flooding back.

  Hsu Fu squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head to expel the sounds of his own screams.

  He could feel the same panic and terror gripping his heart again. Reasoning with himself, he tried to remain calm. He was miles away from the camp, having escaped hours before the men were due to awaken. No one had seen him, Hsu Fu was sure of it. Even if they tried to come after him, they would not be able to travel as quickly as he had. The general’s deserters had taken all of their horses, and the men who remained were not travelling as lightly as Hsu Fu.

  Besides, now that Wang Jian knew about the elixir, Hsu Fu suspected the general would be setting his sights on the true prize instead of pursuing a worthless alchemist.

  At least, that is what Hsu Fu hoped.

  There were a few times, during the delirium of excruciating pain, he had feared unwittingly speaking about Naaya and her true location. When Wang Jian threatened the Nine Familial Exterminations on the Hsu clan, Hsu Fu knew he had to do something. The general was vowing to hunt down every one of his relations in China and submit them to the same torture and eventual death.

  Hsu Fu could not let that happen. He had to protect his family.

  So he gave the general what he wanted.

  Hsu Fu had not lied when he spoke of that island and its location. It did exist, and Naaya had been there. This he knew, because of the drawings depicting its peculiar shape on Naaya’s walls, and the stories she had told. But Hsu Fu had described the island to Wang Jian as if he himself had actually been there, and judging from the reaction, it seemed the general had bought the story. With any luck, all of Qin’s accursed men would be on a boat right now sailing south.

  And if they ever found the island, they would discover nothing but birds living there.

  Hsu Fu had always been a gifted storyteller, narrating enough details to capture the listeners’ attention, leaving out just the right amount for their imagination to take over. This was how he had convinced Emperor Qin of the existence of Penglai Mountain and the Immortals, and of the giant sea creatures blocking the path when he had failed to return with the elixir from the first expedition. The secret to a great lie, he knew, was to interweave as much truth as necessary to make fiction come to life.

  Hsu Fu rinsed the makeshift rag in the brook again, wringing the last drops of water out and putting his clothes back on. The damp material against his skin was a welcome respite from the midday temperature. Looking down at his shins and palms, he saw that the deeper cuts from the lengthy stumble through the fo
rest had already begun to heal.

  Amazing.

  He was yet to become fully accustomed to this new body: the way it repaired itself, the efficiency with which it moved, as if it were made of air. Often, Hsu Fu had to remember to slow his movements just to blend in with others so as to not attract attention. As a medicine man, he was fascinated by how it worked. How was it possible that after receiving the elixir, one’s body operated and mended itself with such efficiency that one would remain youthful forever?

  Despite Naaya’s repeated warnings, Hsu Fu wanted to share this marvel with the rest of the world. He believed whole-heartedly that this was a gift from the gods.

  A branch snapped behind him, bolting him upright. Hsu Fu swivelled, searching amongst the trees for movement. A deer grazed innocently only fifty metres away, seemingly unperturbed by his presence. Looking up at the steep mountain ahead, he stood quickly, realising that he had rested for too long. He had better keep moving if he was to reach Naaya before sundown.

  36

  “So the Senkaku Islands were a lie?” Georgia asks, her forehead crinkling.

  “Yes and no,” replies Charlie. “Naaya did stay there briefly as she sailed from her home to Japan. But unlike what you read in the Hata scroll, the islands are not the promised Penglai Mountain. There was never a shipwreck, and I never ended up there. My fleet landed safely at what is now known as Shingu in Japan—myself and five hundred other brothers and sisters of China who were victims of the oppressive Qin regime. Japan became our new home, our haven from the tyrant who had taken over our lands.”

  “Wait. You mean to say that all of this—the expedition that you convinced Qin to send you on, the stories about Penglai Mountain and the Immortals—all of it was just a ploy for safe passage out of China?” She is incredulous. “And you made the emperor pay for it too?”

  A crooked smile spreads across Charlie’s face. He was right; not much escapes her scrutiny at all. “You are an archaeologist, Georgia. You know how Qin treated his people. Qin was all about unification: one language, one measuring system, one ruler for all that vast land. There was never any room for diversity or differing opinions. And I have always been different, all of us were. We had all been shunned one way or another by our community, and we saw the dangers for us as Qin became emperor. That was why we needed to find a way to leave China and find a new home for ourselves.

  “I was familiar with Qin’s greed. His appetite for power drove him to madness, and when he became ill, he was desperate to try anything so that he could live forever. I saw my opportunity, and I took it.”

  Charlie pauses, then adds, “We were careful, of course. Sailing in uncharted waters was not something I would risk with so many innocent lives on board. That was why I planned a smaller first voyage to map out our path. When I returned empty-handed, I convinced Qin there was a giant sea creature blocking my path to Penglai Mountain. Years later, we sailed again with the complete fleet, with bigger ships to withstand the seas, and accompanied by five hundred men and women as sacrificial gifts for the Immortals.”

  Georgia is silent as she absorbs this.

  “…And Naaya?” she finally asks.

  Charlie smiles as he thinks of his mentor. “Naaya was my teacher, my dear friend. She taught me so much about herbs and healing. Can you believe that she was already several hundred years old when I met her in Japan?”

  Georgia raises her brows, waiting for him to continue his story.

  211 BCE, Japan

  The sun hovered above the distant horizon, setting the entire heavens ablaze. Hsu Fu paused in his tracks, taking in the spectacular scene unfolding before him. Up here, he felt closer to the clouds and the gods, and it was almost easy to forget the past week of hell he had endured.

  Almost.

  A cool breeze swept through the trees, making him shiver and reminding him to keep moving. Hsu Fu resumed his climb, and soon came across a clearing in the woods. A small hut with a thatched roof stood at the far end, light emanating from within. At the sight, relief and exhaustion flooded him simultaneously. His stomach growled with fervour at the delicious aroma of simmering stew. He had not eaten for several days.

  As if sensing his presence, Naaya emerged from the hut. She rushed forward as his knees gave way.

  “What happened?” she cried with horror, helping him into the hut. Settling him on a straw mat, Naaya quickly soaked some clean cloth in a bucket of water to wipe at his face. Hsu Fu guessed there was still plenty of blood left despite his efforts to clean himself up at the creek earlier.

  “The emperor’s men found me,” he explained.

  “They tortured you,” she observed, looking at his shredded, bloody clothing. At Hsu Fu’s grim expression, she asked, “Do they know?”

  He shook his head. “I told them the elixir is on an island two weeks’ sail south of here. The general believes there was a shipwreck, that everyone else perished and I was washed ashore alone.”

  That was another lie he had spun. He had to protect the others so that the general’s men would not go after them.

  Naaya sighed. “I am sorry they did this to you.” Washing the stained cloth in the water, she added, “You must stop coming to me covered in blood like this.”

  Hsu Fu gave her a wry chuckle. It had been almost a year since the day they met. He had been wandering in the woods not far from there, collecting the special herbs that grow so well at this altitude. The land of Wo offered an abundance of new plants he had never come across before, many of them with very interesting healing qualities.

  Hsu Fu had been truthful when he told Qin of his desire to search for a cure. What Qin had not known, however, was that Hsu Fu was actually searching for a concoction that could heal his own son, not the emperor. Hsu Fu never had any intention of helping the ruthless despot prolong his tyrannical reign.

  But when little Hsu An had died during their voyage to Wo, Hsu Fu had howled to the heavens with rage and despair, and almost turned the fleet back to China. The only thing that stopped him was the promise he had made to the five hundred men and women of a new home, and of course, the knowledge that Emperor Qin was likely to behead him for a second failed attempt.

  It was Hsu Fu’s greatest pain in life to be able to heal so many people, but not his own son. He believed his wife secretly blamed him for it too. The death of Hsu An had created a irreparable fissure in their marriage. Unable to console her or even deal with his own grief, Hsu Fu had plunged himself into work.

  One day, as he was hiking in the forest, searching for a new tree fungus he had recently discovered, he encountered a black bear attacking a termite mound. A few metres away, there was a cub foraging on the ground, probably looking for mushrooms.

  Hsu Fu froze. Only the week before he had treated a farmer who had been brutally attacked by a bear protective of its cub. The man had suffered horrific wounds to his face and head. Despite everything Hsu Fu tried, the poor farmer had died within a day. He wondered if it were the same bear that now stood only twenty metres away from him.

  He backed away slowly, carefully, hoping to escape undiscovered, but the creature must have caught his scent. It looked up from the termite nest and straight into his eyes. In a split second, leaping and bounding, it closed the distance between them. With a thunderous roar, the beast reared up on its hind legs. Hsu Fu stumbled back a few steps in fear, tripping over a log and landing on his back. The last thing he remembered was a giant paw swinging at his face.

  When he woke up, it was to a similar sight to the one he had described to Wang Jian. Hsu Fu found himself in a hut, a fire burning bright, and a figure crouched beside it, preparing some kind of concoction in a bowl. He was delirious, his body burning up as if it were ablaze, his throat so dry he could not swallow or speak.

  He lost consciousness, awoke again, and drifted between sleep and wakefulness many times.

  When he finally regained full consciousness, he opened his eyes to see a girl sitting beside him. She had long, silver hair
that reached to her lower back, though she looked no more than fourteen. Her robust frame and facial features differed from the people of Wo. She had larger, deep-set eyes, full lips, a more prominent nose, and darker skin. Hsu Fu could tell straight away that she was not from around there.

  As he studied her, Hsu Fu realised she was the silver-haired witch the villagers in the valley spoke of. They talked often of a frightful apparition they glimpsed in the woods, one who moved swiftly like a ghost and was likely to cast a curse on anyone she came across. Yet the girl before him did not seem to be the forest-dwelling monster everyone feared. Even before she spoke, Hsu Fu could feel the kindness that seemed to radiate from the core of her being.

  Her name was Naaya, she told him.

  “You were badly injured by a bear,” she explained, and memories of the beastly assault resurfaced in his mind.

  Hsu Fu sat up quickly with alarm, looking down his limbs and body, touching his face to feel for injuries. All that remained of the bear attack was his tattered clothing, but he could not detect any pain or wounds. Confounded, he looked to Naaya for answers.

  Her expression was strangely apologetic, and Hsu Fu wondered at the sadness in her eyes.

  “When I found you in the forest, you were delirious with pain. The bear had torn the scalp off your head and left gaping wounds on your face. I would not have recognised you but for the green eyes. You kept begging me to help you, to save you.”

  “Have we met?” Hsu Fu asked, confused.

  “No,” replied Naaya, straightening her back. “But I have watched you collect herbs in the mountains, and I have seen you help the people in the valley with the medicine.”