Eternal

by Grant, Alasdair

  “Instruments down,” Mistress Jiu-Li softly commands. “Stand and follow me.”

  We exit the pagoda, forming a starched, nervous line behind the central campus’s circular path. Older and younger classes—male and female—spill from other pagodas to join us. There was no prior announcement about an official visit, but there’s no mistaking the heavy thudding of bingmayong feet.

  I realize I’m holding my breath. Tiny hairs prickle along the back of my neck. I’ve seen the Imperial automatons many times before, but they never fail to frighten me. Expressionless faces. Thought-amplified mercuric blood. The bingmayong are a physical reminder of the Eternal Emperor’s power.

  The Pagoda of Reason’s pearl-white doors swing slowly open, and Master Ning descends its steps. Nervous teachers cast questioning glances in his direction, but his attention is focused on the Gate of Enlightenment.

  The gate’s doors, hung in a huge stone ring, form the only passage through the academy’s protective outer wall. The wall is painted red—the color of good fortune—and the gate’s green doors symbolize harmony. Two bearded dragons march over the stone ring, touching noses at its top. Of all the symbols, these are the most potent. Supposedly they bring divine protection to the academy and its occupants.

  But the bingmayong care nothing for symbols. Nothing can save a person once the terra cotta warriors have been sent for him or her. My skin crawls as they march, two by two, under the stone ring. Over segmented metal frames, they wear terra cotta shells shaped like human body parts and clothing. Their kiln-dried faces, eternally scowling, swivel left and right as if to watch us shiver. Only their skeletal stainless steel fingers remain unencumbered by an earthen shell. These clutch long halberds topped by crescent blades that have been decorated with horsehair tassels.

  I count twenty bingmayong. The four in the middle carry a gilded sedan chair draped in red silk. When they’ve advanced to within five feet of Master Ning, the marching automatons come to an impressive stamping halt.

  A thin hand parts the litter’s silk hangings, revealing a bespectacled man in yellow Imperial garb. He steps regally from the litter, and approaches the schoolmaster with a disdainful look on his face.

  “Master Ning.”

  Master Ning bows. “Master Fu,” he replies. “To what do we owe this auspicious visit?”

  “A collection,” the little man replies. He adjusts his spectacles and eyes the two opposing rows of onlookers. We shift nervously and share worried glances.

  “I’ve come to collect two students,” he says.

  Anxious whispers ruffle the air. There are only a few reasons why a government official comes to take a student away. None of them are good.

  “Two students?” Something flickers across Master Ning’s face. “May I ask their names?”

  “Student Emerald Smith,” the little man replies. “Student Pike Blake.”

  He turns his eyes expectantly toward the congregated students. When no one moves, he impatiently clears his throat. On the left, among the Fourth-Year boys, a tall blond youth straightens his shoulders and steps shakily out of line. To the right, a dark-haired Fifth-Year girl shuffles timidly away from her huddled friends. Glistening tears streak her pale face.

  “Very good,” the little man says. “You will both accompany me to Weishan Village for questioning.”

  “They’re mei zuxian,” Lily whispers. “Like me.”

  She watches the two students, a glassy look in her eyes. I react, too. I feel a cold sensation in my stomach. It’s almost always the mei zuxian, those not descended from the Yellow Emperor, who the bingmayong come to take. Some of these “collected” students return to the academy, but they never tell anyone what happened. And no one asks because no one dares.

  Four terra cotta warriors move forward. They’ve closed half the distance when the blond boy pulls something from his robes. He tosses it at them. I see a bright flash of light, and a booming concussion deafens me. A hot wind slaps my face. Then, through the ringing in my ears, I hear high-pitched screams and see students at the front fall to their knees. Blood streams down their confused faces.

  Five of the bingmayong have shattered. Silver liquid sprays from loose, waving hoses attached to their exposed metal frames. They stagger a moment before collapsing like precariously balanced sticks. But the Fourth-Year boy is still moving. He now has a long knife in his hand, and he knocks a surprised Master Ying to one side as he leaps at Master Fu. Boy and yellow-robed official tumble to the earth. Master Fu cries out as the boy presses the knife against Master Fu’s throat.

  One quick slice. That’s all it would take, and the bespectacled man would be dead. The nearest terra cotta warrior has no time to prevent it, no time to plunge its sharpened halberd through the Fourth-Year’s back. At least it wouldn’t have that time if the boy wasn’t stopping to stare at his knife.

  More screams rake my ears as the boy stiffens. The knife drops from his fingers, and he rolls slowly into the grass. Before the terra cotta warriors close in around him, I catch a glimpse of crimson blood blossoming across his robes.

  I stagger. Lily catches me. She remains surprisingly calm. She draws me toward our emptied classroom as teachers hurry through the frightened crowds, attending to the injured and calming the hysterical.

  A Dikang terror attack. We all know about them, but we’ve felt safe in this secure corner of the Empire. I glance at Lily and see tears trickling down her face. She looks distraught and angry.

  Our peaceful world has been shattered. We hang onto each other, bracing ourselves against this dark event.

  SIX

  六

  JENNA

  Mom sets her coffee mug on the table and stares at me, a concerned scowl wrinkling her forehead.

  “Are you not feeling well, Jenna?”

  I poke another corn flake under the milk before looking up from my soggy breakfast.

  “I’m okay. Why are you asking?”

  “I don’t know. You look…tired. And you’re trying to drown your cereal instead of eat it.”

  She reaches across the small round table and places the back of her hand against my forehead.

  “No fever.”

  “I told you, Mom. I feel fine.”

  “You and Lily haven’t been texting each other all night, have you?”

  Lily. I remember her reaction to the violent attack. Remember holding her sweating hand as she pulled me—I mean Jade—away from the chaos. It was just a dream and yet so uncomfortably real. My dad is half Caucasian. If I lived in Jade’s world, would I be in the same danger as the mei zuxian?

  Why am I even thinking this? It doesn’t matter. It’s just a stupid dream.

  Mom’s still staring at me, waiting for an answer, so I shake my head and try to refocus my blurred eyes.

  “No, Mom. You can check my phone if you don’t believe me. I haven’t been sleeping well. Bad dreams.”

  She looks concerned and opens her mouth to say something but sighs instead and changes the subject.

  “I got a phone call from your Grandfather Lee last night.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “Apparently Yeye isn’t doing well.”

  Yeye. Mom’s grandfather. My great-grandfather. He’s at least ninety years old. Maybe a hundred. I haven’t seen him since I was little.

  “If I can get airline tickets, I was thinking of flying the two of us to San Francisco to see him this weekend. I can show you around Chinatown, give you a taste of your Chinese heritage.”

  Now it’s my turn to open my mouth and say nothing.

  “You’d like that,” she says. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Sure,” I finally say. “That sounds…fun.”

  Mom smiles.

  “Look at the time!” she says, glancing across the kitchen at the digital clock on our stove.

  Light reflects off the stove’s stainless steel surface, and an image of metal fingers protruding through terra cotta gauntlets flashes through my mind. I fight back a sh
udder.

  “We need to hurry so I can drop you off at school,” Mom says.

  She finishes her coffee, and I drown another corn flake.

  “Are we descendents of a Yellow Emperor?”

  I don’t know why I say it, and it startles Mom so much she nearly drops her empty cup.

  “Where did you hear that name?”

  “We’ve…uh…been learning about ancient China in my World History class. I think Mr. Carlson might have said something about it.”

  Mom considers a moment, looks relieved, and nods.

  “Your teacher was referring to Huangdi,” she says, “the legendary emperor who founded Chinese civilization.”

  “He was real?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Most reputable scholars believe he’s a myth. A very important myth, though. Many Chinese families—including ours—claim to trace their genealogy back to him.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. How can a family be descended from a myth?”

  “It can’t. But at one time in Chinese history, it became a matter of pride to say your family name came through one of his sons. For some families it’s still a way of proving how ‘Chinese’ they are.”

  “But if he never existed—”

  She holds up both hands. “I know. But that’s one of the interesting things about human behavior. Myth and history play a role in how societies and individuals view themselves. I wrote a paper on it once. Later—when we have more time—we can have some fascinating discussions about it.”

  Mom looks at the clock again, and I take my uneaten cereal to the sink. While she gathers her latest batch of student papers, I put my breakfast down the disposal.

  I’m not sure why, but I’m suddenly angry. Angry for Lily.

  Mei zuxian. Without Chinese ancestry. As if anyone’s ancestry makes her less important or less human. Thank goodness it was only a dream.

  SEVEN

  七

  JADE

  I stare at the pearl-white doors, pull my shoulders back, and take a deep shuddering breath. So many things have happened so quickly. First the initial summons to the High Master’s pagoda then yesterday’s nightmare attack. The academy is still buzzing about it. Terra cotta warriors guard the gates, and the campus swarms with imperial investigators. They’ve been interrogating teachers and students all day. Five students have already been taken to Weishan Village, and I worry I’ll be next if any of the investigators notice me visiting the High Master.

  Something jingles over my head, and I jump and look up. Silver wind chimes. Last time I was here, I fainted on this very spot. I can’t allow that to happen again. The gong still waits on its marble stand, so I tremulously lift the hanging mallet and rap it against the bronze disc. A warbling note shivers across the porch, announcing my arrival.

  Footsteps move inside. The door opens.

  “Ni hao, Student Jade.”

  I blink in surprise at the tiny gray-haired woman who smiles up at me. I’ve never seen her before, but she seems to recognize me. Has she always been here at the academy?

  “The High Master humbly begs your forgiveness and asks me to inform you he will be a few minutes late for your scheduled appointment. He asked me to set out some green tea for your refreshment. If you’ll follow me, the tea is waiting in the library.”

  I follow. She takes me into a large room to the left where cubicle shelves cover each wall from floor to ceiling. A lectern—a twin to the one in Master Ning’s personal quarters—lurks in one of the far corners. In the middle of the room, a lacquered table squats like a sleepy turtle. Red, decorated with the five elements’ symbols, the table is flanked by four backless stools. Each stool, upholstered in green velvet, looks even more turtle-like than the table. If I weren’t so nervous, I would consider this a welcoming place for tea and conversation.

  Master Ning’s housekeeper bows to me. I return her gesture, and she leaves me with only my troubled thoughts to keep me company. The green tea steeps on the turtle’s back in porcelain gaiwans, lightly scenting the library with an orchid aroma.

  I stare at the table a few moments then scan the shelves. I should do as Master Ning intended and sip the tea. Instead, I wander his library, running my fingers over the cubicles’ polished teak frames.

  Beneath the tea’s orchid fragrance, I smell old and new leather, dry bamboo, and mellowed varnish. I touch a vellum scroll. The parchment is soft, marked with a sheep hide’s faint grain.

  The Empire sometimes uses parchment like this for its important documents. The Old Europeans wrote on it, too. Lily is descended from that race. The dead Fourth-Year boy was, too.

  I shake my head, trying to get the boy’s image out of my brain, but I keep seeing his face, keep seeing his surprised expression when he glanced down at the knife in his hand. He seemed as stunned by his actions as the rest of us were. But how could he be? How could he walk the campus with a bomb and a knife and not know it?

  I rub my eyes and attempt to distract myself by looking into the next cubicle. This one houses a scroll even older than the first. It’s a cracked, yellow document that looks like it will crumble if I breathe on it. The thought makes me step back, and this makes me bump into the dragon lectern’s sharp corner.

  “Ouch!”

  A large square object rests on the lectern.

  A textbook.

  No, that’s Jenna’s word. The Europeans called it a codex.

  I lean over the codex and touch it. Its pages are constructed from finger-width bamboo strips. The strips are bound together with leather cords, and each strip is printed with black and gold imperial characters.

  “The Scholarly Writings of Xu Fu,” I read aloud. “Dream Master. Royal Alchemist. Trusted Advisor of the Eternal Emperor Qin Shi Huang.”

  “A fascinating text.”

  I whirl, one hand on my chest, and a stifled cry catches in my throat.

  From the doorway, Master Ning unblinkingly observes me.

  “It is to Xu Fu that we owe the honor of our current knowledge of brain amplitudes,” he says. “The Eternal Emperor would have never received the ‘eternal’ part of his title if not for Master Xu’s discoveries.”

  He motions me toward the ‘turtle’ table.

  “Please join me for tea, Student Jade.”

  I bow and nod. My face is warm. I feel like a child caught stealing sesame cakes between meals. I lower my head and move hesitantly to a stool, not sitting until the Master has seated himself.

  He slides me a lidded gaiwan on a porcelain saucer. Cup and saucer are decorated in intricate floral patterns. I attempt to mask my embarrassment by focusing my eyes on a curling blue stem.

  The master chooses a second cup for himself and raises it to his lips. After a long sip, he returns it to the saucer, steeples his fingers, and stares over them at me.

  “Shui,” he says. “The Fifth Amplitude. What does this amplitude produce, Student Jade?”

  “Dreams, Master Ning.”

  “And why do we train ourselves not to dream?”

  “Because dreams are…” I remember what he said the other day. “…supposedly unhealthy.”

  “Supposedly. But you and I know this is false. As did Xu Fu.” He gestures toward the codex. “And as does the Emperor.”

  The last statement makes me lift my eyes again.

  “Have you ever heard the story behind how the Eternal Emperor became eternal?”

  I shake my head.

  “Allow me to tell you.”

  He spins his gaiwan on its saucer. He watches me. Measures me.

  “The Eternal Emperor’s story begins,” he says, “with a prophecy. There was once a great seer named Anqi Sheng. No one knows where he came from. No one knows his lineage, but we do know his prophetic words always came to pass.

  “The prophecy that concerns us is Master Sheng’s seventh and final prophecy, given soon after Qin Shi Huang achieved the throne.

  “One day while Qin Shi was burning books and executing anyone
who might threaten his power, Anqi Sheng showed up unbidden at the young emperor’s Dragon Palace. He delivered a carefully worded prophecy. It was spoken in confusing symbols because Anqi Sheng, in his wisdom, knew Qin Shi would kill him if the prophecy’s meaning was too easily deciphered. The message was delivered, and Anqi Sheng went into hiding. Perhaps he remained in China. Maybe he sailed across the sea. No one knows, because he was never seen again.

  “But his words remained, and they foretold the Emperor’s death. Qin Shi feared Master Sheng’s prophecy more than he feared any mortal enemy. It plagued him during his waking moments. It followed him into his dreams. In anger, he vowed it would never come to pass.

  “To this end, the Emperor gathered his kingdom’s wisest men, charging them with the task of discovering the fabled elixir of life. He also handed them an ultimatum. If after five years they hadn’t found a method to keep him alive forever, they would watch their wives and children die by torture.

  “He also promised a reward. Whichever man could give him the thing he desired, that man and his family would be honored with wealth and political power beyond their wildest imaginings.

  “A great yellow tower was erected—the Golden Academy—and Qin Shi’s scholars were locked inside. They were provided with alchemists’ coded writings, received scientific instruments. Anything that might help them with their experiments and observations was provided.

  “At the time, it was widely believed the metallic element shuiyin—or quicksilver—was a key ingredient to anything involving immortality. Some of the king’s alchemists experimented on themselves. These foolish men died slowly from mercury-poisoning. Other, wiser, alchemists tested herbs and elemental permutations. Their experiments also failed. Not until the wisest of them all, Xu Fu, turned from an outward search to an inner one was the secret of eternal life uncovered. Xu Fu believed immortality could be obtained through meditative control of the inner mind energies. This supposition led to the discovery of brain amplitudes and the power of dreaming—the power of shui—”