The Girl with No Face

by M. H. Boroson

  He stepped back. His gaze locked on me, and both the severity of his remaining human eye and the milky blankness of the glass one made me feel squeamish.

  “I am familiar with such a thing,” he said. “Xixuemo shu.”

  The two words made me blink. Xixuemo meant blood-sucking-demon, similar to the English word vampire; shu simply meant tree, though the word was often applied to other kinds of plant. “Vampire trees?” I repeated.

  He gestured that we should take up the match once again, and I met his rods with my own. He began to speak while we sparred, a challenge to my mental focus. “I saw a vampire tree once,” he said, while our rods clapped together and swung apart, “when I was in Beijing.”

  He never told me he’d been to Beijing. Startled by the new information, I lost my mental focus and his rod cracked down against my wrist. He stepped back, giving me time to recover. I flexed the wrist querulously, feeling through the pain. “I did not know you had ever been to Beijing, Father.”

  His glance hit me harder than the wood. “Sifu,” I corrected.

  We started to spar again. Men, passing by, noticed us, and a few stopped to watch the sport. “I spent a few months in Beijing,” Father said, accompanied by the drumline of our rods striking each other, “when I was a very young man,” clack, clack. “Before I ever decided to become a Daoshi.” Clackclackclack. “Later, after I began my apprenticeship with Sifu Li, an edict came, ordering Sifu to speed to the Forbidden City at once.” Clack, clackety clack, clack. “Sifu brought me with him as a guide, because I’d been there before.”

  He’d been to the restricted district where the Emperor lived, twice, and never told me about it? My father’s practice swords sliced through my defenses. He tapped one hard against my elbow, a jolt of pain; a moment later, the other dowel rapped my chin. If they had been steel swords, my head would be rolling on the ground.

  “Concentrate,” he said.

  I stood back, assessing him and the terrain. A dozen men circled us to watch and cheer.

  “Sifu, I have a hard time believing you’ve been to the Forbidden City, the home of the Emperor and his family, twice. Why haven’t you been talking about this all my life?”

  He gave a gesture and we began sparring once more, slipping in and out of each other’s reach, dancing surrogate swords against each other. “The events were not to be the source of boasting, Li-lin,” he said, striking down and slashing sideways against my wooden rods. “Thirty years ago, some fool brought a gift from South America, a potted tree with leaves like blue glass. One of the Tongzhi Emperor’s daughters ate some berries off the plant, and a vampire tree began to grow inside her. Flowers sprouted from her mouth.”

  Father’s strikes were efficient, crisp, yet there was no real effort being made to penetrate my defenses. He was sparring from reflex, automatically, yet even so, it took all my wits just to block, parry, and dodge his barrage. And still he continued to speak.

  “The royal family’s doctors tried cutting the fronds, but blood would flow from them—the princess’s blood. So a number of Daoshi were summoned to the Forbidden City. Though the plant was new to them,” clack, clack, “they still were able to chart the flow of unclean energy through it. And they devised means to prevent the plant from growing any further. Holding off the infestation required some of the most complex rituals I’ve ever seen,” he said, his strikes suddenly becoming sharper, faster, driving me backward, “incantations,” crack, “hand gestures,” clack, “star-stepping,” snick, “talismans,” crack, “all of them tightly coordinated, and all of it in conjunction with traditional doctors working with her pulses and energy meridians.”

  To catch my breath, I scrambled outside the reach of his attacking rods. He looked relieved, and wiped some sweat from his brow before he continued talking.

  “Sifu Li, and thirty other Daoshi—thirty of them!—took turns chanting all day and all night for a week. They were able to keep the princess alive, for days.” He raised a hand and beckoned me to engage with him once more, which I did with some reluctance. “Their conjoined magics stopped the Xixuemo Shu from growing any larger, so she was able to breathe, but they failed to kill it or drive it away. The girl died of starvation.”

  “That is horrible,” I said, and stepped forward to make a perfunctory stab at him, which he brushed aside. “The vampire tree killed her body; was her higher soul harmed?”

  He looked aghast, but still managed to misdirect me with a feinted strike and a horizontal stroke that met my forearm. Men cheered. “What kind of question is that? No, Li-lin, her soul was not harmed. The plant drank her blood and drained her of her positive energy. Nothing touched her soul.”

  “That is good, Sifu. The plant did not harm anyone else?”

  “It was not contagious,” he said. “When she died, it died almost immediately afterwards. The Daoshi determined that the plant itself had been an evil thing, demonic, but the princess’s contamination had been caused by a sorcerer casting a hex.”

  “That sounds horrific, Sifu.”

  He smiled grimly and cracked his rods against mine, driving me backward. “I have probably not described it nearly as bad as it was, Li-lin. The flowers were so pretty and so disturbing. I believe she went blind before she died, and deaf. The entire experience was defeat. If we’d known who the spellcaster was, or where he kept his altar, we could have saved her.”

  “I cannot see why a sorcerer would hex Xu Anjing,” I said.

  Father’s hands flailed, his defenses crumbled, and I wound up striking him with both batons, much harder than I intended to. Men cheered again. Welcoming the momentary break, I stepped outside his range and wiped some sweat off my face.

  “Xu Anjing?” he said. “Xu Shengdian’s wife? She’s been afflicted by a Xixuemo Shu?”

  “It killed her,” I said.

  My father sagged like a wet sack, squeezing his eyelids shut. “I knew her,” Father said, the words low and gravelly. “I introduced her to her husband.”

  “He told me,” I said. “He showed me their Gua Ming charts.”

  “Their charts,” he said, sneering. “All lies. And for nothing.”

  “What do you mean, Father? Sifu?”

  He turned and addressed our spectators. “Sparring is done for the evening,” he announced. With a little grumbling, they moved along. My father extended a hand and I returned his sticks. Efficiently he bound them with a string and returned them to his satchel. The iron pail where he’d burned his papers had cooled down by now, so he started disassembling his portable shrine and altar. I moved nearby, helping him pack up his belongings. He glanced at me and nodded.

  No observers remained. Stepping near to me, my father said, “I faked her reading, Li-lin.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Xu Shengdian wanted to buy something that would improve his luck at the gaming table. He had money, and he had the self-control not to gamble himself into poverty, but he wanted the glow of a winner. And there was a shipment of girls brought in to be auctioned. These sales, Li-lin, they’re . . . unpleasant. The girls aren’t locked in chains or anything, but they’re held in small rooms, with hay, like farm animals, eating cold rice, until they’re sold. One of the seller’s previous cargo hanged herself, and her ghost was haunting him—”

  “Good,” I said.

  His expression told me he agreed. It also told me to be quiet.

  “I was brought in to exorcise the ghost,” he said. “And that was when I met the girl you know as Xu Anjing. She was six years old, sad and sweet and lonely, and frankly, she reminded me of you.”

  I stayed silent.

  “When I looked at that girl, I saw my daughter’s face at that age, when your eyes were still full of wonder. She was eager and open-hearted, the way you were before your mother’s murder and your husband’s death and your endless stream of bad decisions turned you into the defiant, impulsive, disrespectful, isolated, perpetually angry thing you became.”

  My mouth felt
dry, my emotions spinning. It was almost a form of magic, the way he could so profoundly rattle me, making me feel treasured in one moment and stung the next.

  “So you understand, Li-lin, I couldn’t just leave her to her fate.

  “I saw a little girl who needed someone to take care of her, and I saw an unmarried man who wanted something to bring him luck, so I lied to him about the compatibility of their astrology and numerology so he would buy her and give her a better life.”

  “But Sifu,” I said, “Xu Shengdian did become lucky at the gaming tables. His luck is legendary. How did this happen, if his wife—his ‘lucky charm’—did not actually bring balance to all his life’s energies?”

  “As soon as I declared them married, I began casting spells to bring him good fortune.”

  “This still makes no sense, Sifu. His luck is incredible. They say he never loses.”

  “You doubt my capabilities?”

  “Sifu,” I said. “The Gambling God . . . . It is said he played a game of dice where the goal was to get the lowest possible number, and he would lose if the numbers tied; his opponent rolled six dice and every one of them came up with a single pip; it was not possible for Mr. Xu to win, or tie; and yet . . . when he rolled six dice, five of them came up with a single pip, and the sixth shattered. He won, even though it was not possible.”

  “I have heard this story,” my father said.

  “Your luck spells can improve a gambler’s chances, Sifu. They do not bring about miracles.”

  “For some reason,” he said, glaring, “my good fortune spells worked better for Xu Shengdian than they ever did for anyone else.”

  “Could he be using someone else’s luck magic? Some sorcerer’s corrupt spellwork?”

  “Li-lin,” my father said, “Xu Shengdian sometimes gambles in halls warded by my talismans. If anyone brought some kind of amulet past them, its power would be nullified as soon as it crossed my wards. Unless you think some little sorcerer’s hex is more potent?”

  I shook my head to forestall conflict. “And Xu Anjing, Sifu? I need to perform her funerary rites.”

  “So you need her Eight Details,” he said. “The real ones.”

  I nodded.

  He reached into the pockets of his linen robe and brought out paper and a grease pencil.

  “Don’t you need to check your records?” I said. “Surely you do not remember her Eight Details.”

  “Of course I remember them, Li-lin,” he said. “Do you think I would do something like that lightly? I am not a man who would cheat someone without thinking deeply about my actions, for a long time. And I did cheat Xu Shengdian, by forging the girl’s birthplace and date, lying about her Eight Details. This was a significant decision for me, Li-lin. Now I will write the details for you, so you can provide for her higher soul.”

  I cringed. “About that higher soul . . .” I said.

  I spent a few minutes filling him in. Silence prevailed over us, and my father scowled for a long time.

  “Sifu, when I came here, you thought I had been performing Major Rites. What Major Rites?”

  My father took a few paces, away and back. “Rites of Investiture,” he said.

  I turned to face him. “Someone is trying to Invest a deity? In San Francisco? Without your sanction?”

  “That is the case.”

  “What kind of deity?”

  He pursed his lips. “Tudi Gong.”

  I was quiet for a moment. Tudi Gong was the god of place; each area tended to have its own emanation of Tudi. The local manifestation would speak and act for the popular deity, yet each would also be an individual, with unique characteristics, functioning independently. His statues adorned many of China’s city halls, occupied central places in many of China’s yamens—government compounds—and also many statues had been erected in public squares in China, where people would decorate them with flower petals to petition for luck.

  In cities a Tudi would be known as the City God, in rural lands he would be called the Earth God, but no matter what he was called, in every manifestation of Tudi I’d ever seen, his expression was a benevolent smile. Tudi was the appointed intermediary between humanity and gods, and the fact that no Tudi had yet been appointed in San Francisco was saddening. Sojourners far from home and emigrants abroad also needed an ambassador deity who would address the gods on our behalf.

  I glanced at the disassembled components of my father’s altar, all neatly folded now or bound in twine and tucked into pouches. Father had no remaining excuses to linger much longer at the street corner, conversing with a woman he did not consider family, and he crossed his arms in front of his torso.

  “The weather is growing colder these days,” I said. “You should wear more layers.”

  His gaze turned toward me, and I thought he heard my words for what they were. These last months must have been so solitary for him, now that he had no one left who’d speak words of care.

  This, I knew, was my moment. The time for me to reach out a hand, to be his daughter even if he refused the word.

  “Sifu,” I said, my voice small and tight. “You seem to face an important quest, while I am dealing with a smaller one. We could work together.”

  “‘Work together’?” he repeated.

  I flushed. “What I mean is, I could assist you in your efforts, and, since you seem to care about the fate of Xu Anjing, you could investigate her death, and I could assist you there as well.”

  “In what way would you assist me, Li-lin?”

  “The small things, as I used to,” I said. “I could prepare your talismans, sharpen your weapons, sweep up ashes, light candles, and burn incense.”

  I could see he found the offer tempting. No one enjoyed repetitive labors, and my father considered such lowly activities beneath him.

  He seemed to chew it over for a while. At last he said, “Let me ask you something, Li-lin.”

  “Please continue?”

  “You understand there are unsanctioned rites underway,” he said. “Do you think you could perform menial labors for me, if I do not tell you anything more about what is happening?”

  My eyes widened. “You mean to keep me in the dark?”

  “That’s exactly what I would do,” he said. “If I allow you to assist me, you would do as I say. You would ask no questions, and I would share no knowledge or information with you. Could you accept that, Li-lin?”

  “But why would you want that? Don’t you trust me, Father?—Sifu?”

  “Trust you, Li-lin?” His scowl managed to transmit both hardness and surprise. “Why would I trust you?”

  “I don’t know, why would you trust your own daughter?”

  “I have no daughter,” he said.

  “But you know me,” I insisted. “You know what kind of person I am.”

  “I know the people you work for, and they are scum,” he said. “And your own actions, Li-lin! You violated the codes of our tradition and lineage. You performed filthy magic.”

  “I did these things with the best of intentions,” I said. “Sifu, you have only deigned to raise me to the Fourth Ordination, while you hold the Seventh. Have you ever gone into a fight as an underdog? Have you ever fought an opponent who was stronger than you were? It’s easy to remain unblemished by your choices when you can win without cheating.”

  “Even if that’s true, Li-lin, you have proven that you’re willing to abuse power, so I will place no more power in your hands. Whatever knowledge you acquire makes you dangerous. I will not have you at my side, learning things you should not know. I’ve given you Xu Anjing’s Eight Details, I’ve answered your questions, and I will find out who is performing the Rites of Investiture. I will do it alone, unless you accept being kept in the dark.”

  “You will only accept my help if I agree to follow you blindly?”

  “I would not trust your assistance otherwise, Li-lin.”

  I swallowed, bowed to my father, and walked away.

  FIVE

 
Her soul still exists,” I said to Mr. Yanqiu. My voice shook from relief.

  I’d hurried back to the mortuary to learn what I could do for the dead girl. Now that I’d used her correct Eight Details, the sheet was no longer inert to my touch. It thrummed against my fingertips.

  “Can you use that to find her?” the eyeball spirit asked.

  “This wasn’t made for that purpose, Mr. Yanqiu,” I said. “This is basically the same as the placards to honor the dead; it is connected with the person intimately, and the part of their higher soul attached to their name and repute should inhere in it. It doesn’t send out a spiritual beacon or sniff out a soul in hiding.”

  “So you’ve confirmed that some part of her soul still exists,” he said. “How do you intend to find her?”

  I smiled.

  Seventeen hundred years ago, Zhuge Liang, the great strategist of the Three Kingdoms era, had worn a Daoshi’s robes and carried a hand fan made out of crane feathers. His courtesy name was Kongming.

  Once, Kongming had been trapped, his troops penned in, cornered by enemies in the hills of Pingyang. He needed to send a message summoning reinforcements, but the message needed to get across enemy lines somehow. Ingeniously, the strategist constructed a kind of balloon made of paper, with a small candle inside it; the candle heated the air, causing the paper lantern to rise. Kongming wrote coded messages on a hundred sky lanterns, and launched them into the air. His enemies fired arrows to sink them, volley after volley of flying barbs, but some of his sky lanterns made it safely past his enemies; his allies read the message, and came to him in force.

  In the centuries that passed since Kongming’s lanterns changed the course of Chinese history, the invention had been improved in some ways, made more beautiful in other ways, and Daoshi had developed methods of using them to locate the souls of the dead.

  My Kongming lantern was two feet tall. Slender wires gave it a mushroom-like shape to hold hot air. Months ago I had covered its sides with intricate magical writing in swirling cloudscript, drawings of constellated stars which I endowed with power by dancing their formations, astrological charts, and the names and birthdays of deities. Now, in a blank area, I copied Mrs. Xu’s correct Eight Details from my father’s slip of paper.