In a two-fingered gesture, he motions for us to follow him. Not waiting to see if we understand, he vaults the railing, lands cat-like in the grass, and darts toward the Martial Pavilion. We don’t have time to think. Not as nimble as Flint, I swing over and drop like a stone. Lily lands more gracefully. We link hands and run to keep up with him.
We’ve covered about fifteen feet when I feel a tug, hear a soft cry, and fall with Lily as she tumbles. She releases my hand, and I drop down beside her.
Lily curses under her breath.
“Ankle!” she whispers. “Twisted!”
In the darkness, her foot found a small hole in the lawn.
We have to get out of the open. I try to help her up, but Mistress Song joins us and motions me forward.
“Run!” she commands.
Flint has timed his dash between buildings so the circle-walking automatons are eclipsed by the High Master’s pagoda. He waits in a crouch beside the Martial Pavilion, staring apprehensively back at us.
The bingmayongs’ brisk footfalls are coming close again. They’ve now reached the Pagoda of Tranquility.
“Go!” Mistress Song commands me again.
I run but not without casting several anxious glances over my shoulder. Mistress Song is helping Lily drag herself back into the shadows.
Flint has already cut a slit in the pavilion’s rice paper wall, and he holds it open like a tent flap so I can duck inside. He comes in behind me as the automaton’s wheel into sight. I desperately want to see if Lily and Mistress Song have been discovered, but Flint pulls the flap shut so that only an inconspicuous slit remains. I’ve never been in the Martial Pavilion. Females aren’t allowed here. Martial arts, like full amplitude training, are strictly forbidden to girls.
We’re not worrying about rules tonight, though. We’re now ‘enemies of the Empire.’ I let this thought sink in while I examine my surroundings. The Martial Pavilion has rice paper walls that let in enough muted moonlight to get a fairly good look at the place. The pavilion is large—without a doubt, the largest classroom at the academy—and the air is permeated with a strong musk of wood, iron, and sweating males.
The pavilion’s centerpiece is a raised sparring platform. It has no railing, but straw-filled mats cover the floor all around it. At the room’s westernmost end, thick climbing ropes and iron exercise rings dangle from sturdy eye bolts affixed to the ceiling. To the east, a forest of blocking dummies casts threatening shadows across the hardwood floor.
I brush up against a weapon rack, and its contents jangle. Flint looks over his shoulder, alarmed. The rack bristles with a dangerous assortment of pikes, swords, staffs, and clubs. Suddenly my small silk fans seem woefully inadequate.
Doing my best to silence the swinging weapons, I return half of my attention to Flint. He’s peering through the slit wall again. His jaw has tightened, and his shoulders are stiff.
I want to ask what’s going on outside, but I’ve already made too much noise. I’m forced to content myself by straining my ears for any telltale sounds. I don’t wait long. Soft footfalls are headed our way.
They come quickly. Flint holds the flap aside, and Mistress Song and Lily tumble in. Lily’s gasping. Mistress Song supports her with one arm around her waist, and both sink to the floor.
“What happened?” Flint asks.
“Lily twisted her ankle. I think it’s broken.”
Flint carefully probes the ankle with his thumb and forefinger while Lily bites her lip to keep from crying out.
“We’ll have to wrap it. We don’t have time for anything else.”
“Do it then.”
He uses his dagger and cuts a long strip of cloth from the bottom of his robe. He wraps quickly, almost expertly. I wonder how many hurt ankles he’s done this for in the past.
“Where’s the entrance?” Mistress Song asks.
“Under the platform.”
“Help me lift her. We’ve got to get out of here before they notice that slit you left in the wall.”
Together they move Lily closer to the platform, and Flint kneels and feels along its base. As with Master Chang’s chalkboard, something clicks. I hear a soft whirring noise, and the entire platform glides sideways. Beneath it a pair of metal rails, a chain driven mechanism, and a yawning black opening slowly come into view.
“You first,” Flint whispers to me, gesturing downward.
I hesitate.
“It’s not as deep as it looks. Take my hand. I’ll help you.”
He wraps his fingers around mine and warmth tingles up my arm. As he promised, the hole isn’t deep. My head and shoulders are still above the floor when my feet touch bottom.
“We need your help,” Flint says, “to get Lily down.”
I nod. He and Mistress Song carefully lower Lily, and I wrap my arms around her waist, attempting to take pressure off the injured ankle as her feet touch the floor.
Despite my help, Lily gasps and nearly falls. I hurriedly help her to a sitting position, and we wait for our companions to join us. This hidden pit isn’t as narrow as the wall space in the Qin Pagoda. I can still touch the walls on each side, but there’s enough room to stretch out and move around a little.
Mistress Song drops nimbly beside us, and Flint comes down a moment later with something in his fist. He’s removed a short staff from the weapon racks. He hands it to Lily.
“You’ll need this. Use it like a walking cane.”
He fumbles with a control button, and the sparring platform slides back to its original position. Once again we find ourselves sealed in tomb-thick darkness.
Someone steps on my hand. Flint. He mumbles an apology. Then he says, “We’ll be following a tunnel. It’s narrow. Lily, how far can you go?”
“As far as you need me to go.”
She whispers it through clenched teeth.
“Do you want to lead the way, Chen Li? Or should I?”
Chen Li?
“You go first,” Mistress Song answers. “You’ve followed this tunnel before. I haven’t.”
I hear Flint moving again. His footsteps make a faint echo.
“The tunnel will take us under the academy’s wall,” he explains. “It opens in the forest to the north. We’re safe for the moment but not out of the woods yet.”
He pauses to chuckle at his pun. Unlike him, I won’t feel any inclination toward laughter until we’re well away from the academy.
“No lamps or candles down here,” Flint says. “Sorry. We’ll have to feel our way forward. I’ll check for obstacles in front of us. Be careful. There are lots of tree roots and rocks.”
We start walking, but the ceiling is so low we have to stoop. I find Lily and put her free hand on my shoulder. She makes a grateful noise. I can tell by how heavily she leans on me that she’s in a great deal of pain.
The tunnel runs in a generally straight direction. With my hand, I discover it’s shored up by wooden joists and beams. It’s obviously rarely used because I’m repeatedly compelled to brush sticky cobwebs out of my face.
I try not to think about the insects and rodents that probably lurk down here. I remind myself that creatures that reside in dark, hidden places aren’t half as dangerous as the Eternal Emperor and his terra cotta terrors. The tunnel seems to go on forever. After a while, my bent neck starts to hurt and my arched back aches. Every now and then I trip over a large plant’s invading roots. Lily stumbles, too, and I hear the cries she tries to muffle. The twisting obstacles under our feet grow ever more frequent, and I swear we’ve traveled miles before Flint finally says, “Stop.” His fingers scrabble at loose dirt, and pebbles rattle to the floor.
“We’re here,” he says after a moment. “The way out.”
I steady myself against the tunnel’s wall. Its hard surface feels warm against my palm, and a thick root rolls like a bulging vein beneath my fingers. Flint strains and grunts. No automatic door mechanism here. Dirt showers down on us and moonlight streams in. When I take a breath, I’m breathing
fresh forest air.
“Wait here,” Flint whispers. “I need to make sure it’s safe.”
He moves like a cat, slinking out into the night. I glance at Lily and Mistress Song. Mistress Song’s face is placid, Lily’s is drawn. I wonder which of my mixed emotions are displayed on my face.
Flint isn’t gone long. His muscular shadow momentarily blots out the moonlight as he leans through the opening to call down to us.
“No traces of bingmayong,” he says. “They must be concentrating all their efforts on the academy. They think you’re trapped, and they’re waiting for the dogs to sniff you out.”
As if listening for this announcement, a hound’s distant baying echoes through the night.
“Sooner than I expected,” Flint says. “Much sooner.”
“They’ll follow our trail to the Martial Pavilion,” Mistress Song whispers. “It won’t be long before they find the tunnel.”
Flint nods. “Let’s get out of here then.”
It burns precious time lifting Lily out of the hole. I can tell by the look on her face she realizes she’s a liability, and when we try to help her forward she shakes her head.
“Leave me behind,” she whispers. “Save yourselves.”
“No one is getting left behind,” Mistress Song says.
“If you knew—”
Whatever she was about to say, Flint doesn’t let her finish it. He scoops her into his arms, and she makes a surprised noise. I look quickly away, trying not to show the unjustified jealousy I’m feeling.
“Guoyuan Village is at least three hours walking distance from here,” Mistress Song says. “You won’t be able to carry her all that way.”
“No, but I’ll carry her as far as I can. We have to cross several streams, and the water should help throw the dogs off our trail. We’ll stop and rest when we have to.”
Flint leads the way. Mistress Song puts a hand against my back and gives me an encouraging smile. It’s going to be a long night. A very long night. I wish the remainder of my future was as easy to predict.
FIFTY-THREE
五十三
JENNA
My vision is blurred. I’m not sure if the funeral parlor’s choking incense still burns my eyes or if I’m experiencing transdimensional jetlag from my midnight journey with Jade. Either way I’m exhausted and glad to have Yeye’s funeral behind me. I’m also anxious to get into his apartment to search for that book.
“Before we enter,” Grandpa Lee says as he unlocks the tarnished deadbolt, “we need to observe an important Chinese ritual.”
He fishes a cigarette lighter out of his suit coat pocket and flicks it twice. I think he’s going to light more incense or burn another bundle of joss paper—the fake money meant to provide for Yeye in his afterlife—but instead Grandpa Lee kneels and points at my feet.
“Stepping over a flame symbolizes lighting the way out of darkness,” he explains. “After a funeral many Chinese families complete this ritual before reentering their homes.”
I step over the flickering lighter, Mom does the same, and Grandpa Lee runs it across his shoes’ soles before holding aside the white cloth that covers the doorway.
The white shroud. Another funeral tradition. I haven’t understood half of what’s gone on today, and I’ve stopped trying. The lights in Yeye’s apartment are already turned on, and mirrors have been removed from its walls so we won’t see our reflections and have another death in the family. I hope that tradition works. I could use some extra protection against the untimely death the Emperor has planned for me.
Yeye’s abundant statues have been carefully wrapped in red paper. Mom explained this one to me, but I’ve forgotten it too. I’m sure it serves as some other protective measure, and I’m not about to dismiss any magical protections after what I’ve seen in Jade’s world.
“Yeye wanted each of you to take whatever you want to remember him by,” Grandpa Lee says. “Anything not marked with a yellow tag. Those have already been sold to his antique dealer friends.”
Mom nods. She hasn’t talked much since the funeral and burial. It’s been an extra hard day for her, and she seems a little dazed. I look around, feeling like a grave robber about to desecrate someone’s tomb, and walk casually over to a pile of old books on a teak table.
Of course, the book I’m looking for isn’t here. That would be too easy, and my life’s never easy.
“Can I use Yeye’s bathroom?” I ask.
“Certainly,” Grandpa Lee answers. “It’s through that doorway and down the hall.”
“Thanks.”
I wander into the short hallway leading to Yeye’s bedroom and bathroom, and glance back to see if Grandpa Lee or Mom is watching me. No problem there. Grandpa Lee’s pointing out a pair of urns and a set of delicate gaiwans while Mom scrutinizes them and nods.
My palms are sweating. I enter Yeye’s room, see his empty bed, and shiver. I just want to grab the book and get out as quickly as possible, but it isn’t here either.
Panic wells up inside me. Should I ask Grandpa Lee about the book? What if it’s one of the antiques he’s already sold?
I take several breaths to calm myself, circle the room, and quietly open and close all the dresser drawers.
Empty.
Every one of them.
A quick search of Yeye’s closet also turns up nothing. My throat tightens. I’ll have to search the sea of objects crowding the other room. It’s going to be like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack.
So no one will guess I was snooping, I go into the bathroom and flush the toilet. As the water rushes noisily rushes through the pipes, I wander back into Yeye’s front room.
Mom and Grandpa Lee are now looking at several scroll paintings hanging on the far wall. I duck between paper-covered statues and cast about for the book, stopping a moment near a pile of old weapons to look over Yeye’s collection of pikes, swords, wooden staffs, and end-weighted chains.
It reminds me of the weapon racks in the Martial Pavilion. I pick up a butterfly-shaped paddle, turn it around and around in my hands, and try to decide if it’s a weapon or something that got in this pile on accident.
What does it matter how it got here? I’m wasting time! I wander between beautiful vases, elegant tapestries, and stop in front of a very ancient-looking three-paneled privacy screen. Still no trace of the book.
Angry tears gather in the corners of my eyes. Whatever the Seventh Prophecy is, it doesn’t want me to find it. That figures. I’ve been marked for death, and I’ll never have the satisfaction of knowing exactly why.
The book must have already been sold and collected. I turn a little too fast, and my funny bone smacks the paneled screen. An electric pain shoots up my arm, the screen wobbles, and I angrily rub my elbow. That’s when I see the stack of old books on a high-backed chair.
My heart races. There it is! I recognize its black cover and curled edges. I move slowly, afraid if I approach it too quickly it will turn to mist and blow away. It isn’t until I’m reaching for it that I see the yellow sticky note stuck to its cover. SOLD. I don’t know whether to scream or laugh or sob.
What now? It’s wrong to steal. In this case stealing is probably justifiable, but the book is too big to hide it in my purse.
I listen for Mom and Grandpa Lee. They’re still talking about the painting. I step behind the old screen and gingerly lift the book’s cover. Strange alchemical symbols dance across its age-browned pages. Except for the symbols for traditional Chinese elements, most of these characters are strange to me. The translator has included short passages penned in Latin, but that doesn’t help me. Luckily he’s included Xu Fu’s original Chinese passages, and I peruse these. I’ve been skimming through them for several minutes before I realize I’m reading and understanding a language I’ve never studied.
Jade. My brain is accessing Jade’s abilities. Our link does far more than I realized it could. But I don’t have time to be amazed by this discovery. I have to find
whatever I can about the prophecy while I still have the chance.
Mom and Grandpa Lee have moved to a different part of the room. They’re coming closer. I’m running out of time. I riffle through pages until I spot an entire chapter devoted to the liquid metal mercury. Xu Fu observes its properties and describes its appropriate combination with other elements to animate inert objects.
The bingmayong. Silver liquid sprayed from their wounds when Mistress Jiu-Li sliced them with her war fans. I shudder. It’s like something out of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, but this still isn’t what I’m looking for.
Five other chapters—each devoted to mental energies—seem frighteningly familiar. There’s one about ‘wood’ energy, another about ‘fire.’ A chapter is included for each of Jade’s Five Amplitudes. The book’s translator-compiler has even included Xu Fu’s carefully labeled diagrams showing the brain and body hemispheres attributed to each amplitudinal “energy.” But there’s nothing here about Anqi Sheng. Nothing that can save Jade or me. I’ve almost reached the end of the book when three words jump out at me.
Anqi Sheng. Prophecy.
“Jenna?”
I hear red paper crackling as someone brushes past a statue.
Mom! I’ve run out of time! I make a swift decision and grab a handful of pages, ripping them free. Mom hears the noise, and her footsteps move closer.
“Here you are.”
I’ve already stuffed the pages into my purse. Hopefully my guilt isn’t showing through the smile I’ve forced onto my twitching lips.
“Anything back here that catches your interest?”
“Just some old weapons.” I cross quickly to the pile. “But I doubt they’ll let me take any of them on a plane.”
“Weapons? No. The homeland security officers would have fits if you tried to board with one of those.”
She laughs, and I make myself laugh with her.
“I thought I heard something ripping.”
“I…um…got too close to a statue. I accidentally ripped some of that red paper.”
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