by JC Kang
No spectators enjoyed the one-hundred-and-sixty-eight-foot dragon, embroidered in gold silk and borne by eighty-eight of the most handsome imperial guards. The only people to see the flashing colors of silken robes and horse brocades were those marching in the parade.
Kaiya sighed. Perhaps in the distance, the citizenry could hear the beating drums or tinkling saddle bells. They would certainly see the imperial aviary’s eight earth phoenixes circling above the procession. Nearly fifteen feet with a wingspan of twice that, they made for an impressive sight, despite being a tenth the size of the mythical phoenixes. They had heads that resembled pheasants, but tails that fanned out like peacocks. Their legs stretched long like cranes, while their wings flapped like swallows. Brightly colored gold and silver feathers sparkled in the sunlight.
Female imperial guards rode astride the phoenixes. Like all imperial princesses past and present Kaiya had trained to ride, but with her fear of heights, she was happy her New Year’s duties kept her on the ground.
Father rode in an open carriage. The High Priest of Hua’s patron god, Yang-Di, sat beside him; though Jie had told her that today, the man was the half-elf’s adoptive father, Master Yan of the Black Lotus Monastery, who sometimes posed as a minister at court. In any other year, the citizenry would sink to their knees and press their foreheads to the ground as the Tianzi passed, wishing him a life of ten thousand years. Today, there was no one.
The rest of the Imperial Family followed the carriage in gold-painted palanquins; though at her insistence, Kaiya rode a horse, as she had for years. Her vantage point provided an excellent view of the inactivity. Her keen hearing told her that beyond the confines of the main boulevard, New Year’s Day went on as usual for everyone else.
People flocked to the temples to wish for health and prosperity, and neighbors visited each other bearing auspicious gifts of fruits and candies. Despite the Hua people’s worldwide reputation for frugality, not even beggars went hungry this day, as they were given leftovers from the feasting the night before. After all, generosity on New Year’s Day would be repaid tenfold throughout the year.
Martial artists performed lion dances in front of stores and homes to scare away evil spirits. The sounds of drums and children laughing floated on the winds. Kaiya even imagined she could smell the burning incense drifting in from afar.
And here, the imperial procession marched, detached from the vibrancy and vitality of the annual celebration. Were these precautions really necessary? No one would stage an attack during the Spring Festival—nobody in Hua would use anything sharp on New Year’s Day, for fear of cutting their luck during the coming year.
Kaiya looked to her side, where her senior-most imperial guard Chen Xin rode awkwardly in the saddle, his knuckles white around the reins. It should’ve been Young Lord Zheng Ming beside her, the invitation having been extended and accepted weeks before.
She pouted. As if the funerary atmosphere of her favorite holiday wasn’t bad enough. She liked him. Really liked him. Problems dashed every opportunity to meet. Assassination attempts. Gruff foreign princes. Now sickness.
She pressed at his kerchief, stashed in the fold of her robe. A courier had arrived earlier that morning with news of Zheng Ming’s illness. He’d been fine just the day before, when he heroically saved ministers and lords from assassination at the hands of his own friend. If illness kept him from accompanying her to Vyara City tomorrow, it would be at least a month before they met again.
“Halt!” The announcement by the Minister of Rites jolted Kaiya out of her thoughts.
She scanned the area. The procession had arrived outside the walls of the Temple of Heaven, an eight-tiered stupa. Painted red with blue gables, it housed a chunk from a fallen star, brought to Hua by the Wang Dynasty Founder at the bidding of the Gods. It was here she’d played the Dragon Scale Lute for Prince Hardeep.
The Tianzi descended from the carriage with the help of Ming’s cousin, imperial guard general Zheng Jiawei. With an entourage of ministers in tow, he plodded through the gates and onto the Temple grounds.
Kaiya and her brothers followed at a respectful distance. It was only two years ago, after her exploits at Wailian, that she was allowed to enter. The white marble walls followed the elliptical outline of dragon bones, with the temple itself at the far focus. It stood on a circular, three-tiered marble base. She’d played the Dragon Scale Lute on the identical base at the near focus. Father negotiated the steps to the base with some difficulty before disappearing inside the stupa.
Vibrations, strong and rapid, emanated from the tower. She’d first noticed them when she came with Prince Hardeep, but now…the frequency sounded so clear, and a slower, deeper pulse harmonized with it. How had she never noticed it before? Lord Xu said sounds changed based on their relative location; but now, no matter where she stood, the resonance sounded the same. If not for the solemnity of the rites, she would’ve raised her voice in song.
Instead, she gazed into the heavens. At exactly noon, when the Iridescent Moon Caiyue disappeared from the sky for a few fleeting moments as it phased to new, on this day of the Spring Equinox, the Tianzi would pray to Hua’s patron god Yang-Di for the nation’s continued prosperity.
To mark the time, the Minister of Rites struck a standing gong, which rang much louder than it should have. The Tianzi’s voice emanated from inside the stupa, sounding as awe-inspiring and powerful as she remembered from her youth.
Despite her earlier melancholy, Kaiya’s spirits rose. Every fiber of her being resonated with excitement. This would be a good year. She would make it so. Starting with a visit to sick Zheng Ming, whose villa was fairly close to the temple.
From her place behind the princess, Jie found the Tianzi’s voice pleasant, in an almost fatherly way. If her real father had ever sung to her, it might have sounded something like the Emperor’s prayer.
Why everyone else seemed genuinely enraptured by his words, Jie couldn’t fathom. She made a mental note. Give—no, proffer—a handkerchief to the princess so she could dab off the drool.
The princess’ eyes glinted with a new focus. If Jie’s experiences from two years ago were any guide, there was an idea forming in that pretty head, and thus far, nothing good had ever come of her impulses. Riding in open carriages, jumping into the fray surrounding the would-be assassin Xie Shimin, riding a horse today—the princess always got her way. It was a miracle she was still alive.
Jie watched her charge with a careful eye, recognizing a subtle fidget as the entourage departed the temple grounds.
As when they left Sun-Moon Palace, Chen Xin dropped to all fours to allow the princess to use him as a footstep to mount her horse. No sooner had she settled in the saddle did she spur her mount out of parade formation and into a fast lope.
Insane princess!
While the rest of the procession gawked, Jie pop-vaulted off Chen Xin and onto his horse. She urged it into pursuit.
Now who was insane?
Though Chen Xin’s riding had been laughable, Jie had next to no experience with a horse, the last time she’d ridden being two years ago under the similar circumstances of rescuing an impulsive princess. This impulsive princess. The gown, while modified for fighting, further hindered her questionable equestrian skills. She clutched the reins, her balance keeping her from bouncing out of the saddle and into an embarrassing—and potentially dangerous—rendezvous with the ground.
Despite her misgivings, Jie quickly got the hang of it. Luckily, the crowds of well-wishers made way for the princess, giving their horses a relatively straight path. Jie ventured a quick glance behind to see no one else giving chase. Above, the phoenixes still circled over the Temple of Heaven.
She quickly banished the wistful thoughts of riding a phoenix— that would never happen. It was up to her to protect the princess. Their direction left little doubt as to where they’d end up. There, Princess Kaiya would face a threat beyond Jie’s ability to defend.
Sure enough, the princess sl
owed her horse to a stop outside of the Dongmen provincial pavilion. She gingerly dismounted, and Jie followed. Her foot nearly caught in the stirrup, causing her to stumble. Her thighs burned and her rear ached, just from the ten-minute canter. Forget phoenixes. If she never rode a horse again, it would be too soon.
The princess approached the solid wooden gate. “I am here to see Young Lord Zheng Ming.”
The gate guards gaped and bowed. Perhaps they recognized her, but even if they didn’t, her regal carriage and tone commanded respect. One raised his head. “The young lord is not here right now.”
The princess raised an eyebrow. “Is he not convalescing? Open the gates.”
The guards looked among themselves, confusion creased into their brows. The same one as before bowed again. “Do you have an invitation?”
Jie snorted, only to be silenced by the princess’ glare. Jie composed her expression and stepped forward. “Princess Kaiya gave you an order.”
The guards dropped to a knee, fist down. “Dian-xia!”
One stood and rapped on the gate. A slot slid open, revealing a pair of eyes. “Princess Kaiya is here to see the young lord.” The slot snapped shut, and the guard turned back and bowed.
The gates opened at a tortoise’s pace. A middle-aged gentleman knelt at the threshold, his forehead touching the ground. “Dian-xia, please be welcome. I am the villa steward. If you would like to wait for Young Lord Zheng’s return, allow me to convey you to our teahouse.”
The princess looked at Jie, her brows furrowed, before glaring at the steward. “So he is truly not here?”
The steward’s face contorted into confusion. “No, Dian-xia. He had urgent business to attend to this morning.”
“On New Year’s Day?” the princess said.
“Yes, Dian-xia.”
The princess spun on her heel, all excitement drained from her face. She wobbled toward her horse.
Jie’s belly hollowed. Until this moment, she never empathized with a noblewoman over trivial matters of courtship. She reached her hand out, for once at a loss of words. The princess was making her soft.
The steward hurried to the princess’ side. “Dian-xia, it is not safe in the city. Please come inside the compound and I shall send a messenger to the palace.”
Ignoring him, the princess put her foot in a stirrup and climbed onto her horse.
The reality of Jie’s assignment quashed her short-lived sympathy. By now, word of Princess Kaiya’s mad dash could have reached whoever wanted her dead. They were out in the open, with no protection. She dropped to her knee, fist to the ground. “Dian-xia, please listen to the steward. You must not risk your life.”
The princess looked down from her mount, her expression forlorn. “I do not wish to be here when Zheng Ming returns.”
Jie rose and took the reins, holding firm even as the princess tugged back. “Lord Steward, please send your messenger to the palace. We will wait here.”
The princess’ eyes narrowed into a deadly glint. “Yan Jie, I command you to let go.”
Jie turned and started leading the horse into the compound.
“Let go.” The princess sang the order. Her angry voice seemed to shake the walls, and the guards dropped their spears. Even the old woman tending to a small garden down the street by the Linshan provincial villa dropped her walking staff.
Having experienced the power of the princess’ voice several times already, Jie let it ripple over her and continued walking toward the gates. Glancing over her shoulder and seeing the princess slumping in the saddle, she waved toward the wide-eyed steward. “Prepare that tea. If your young lord returns, I would suggest—”
Guards murmured and pointed. Jie followed their gazes.
Down the street, Zheng Ming rode side-by-side with a plain young woman, chatting and laughing and oblivious to the unexpected visitors ahead of him. Hopefully, the princess hadn’t seen them. Jie hazarded a glance up.
Sitting stiffly, the princess scowled in Zheng’s direction. With a jerk of the reins out of Jie’s limp grip, she turned the horse around.
Zheng Ming looked up and brought his own horse to a stop. If his mouth hung any wider, a fist would fit in it. It was a tempting thought.
Instead, Jie could only watch as the princess set her chin and rode her horse at a walk toward Zheng. Jie scrambled to catch up.
Zheng Ming bowed his head. “Dian-xia. I…I am sorry. But it’s not what you think.”
The princess didn’t stop the horse, or even deign to acknowledge him as she rode past.
“Dian-xia. Please, let me explain.” He might as well have been talking to the Great Wall.
Jie trotted past him, casting the reproachful glare the princess was too proud to express.
As for the young woman…too much perspiration glistened on her forehead for this cool day, and up close, the smile she wore looked too contrived.
Very little surprised Liang Yu, but the turn of events in the last ten minutes reminded him of how little he could actually predict.
He had been there, pretending to weed a small garden plot at the side of the Linshan provincial villa, just to see if Young Lord Zheng had followed the instructions he provided. Little did he imagine that Zheng would bring Xie Shimin’s prospective bride back to the Dongmen provincial villa.
Even more surprising was Princess Kaiya’s unannounced visit, with a handmaiden who seemed familiar, despite the fact he had never seen a half-elf up close before. From the way the latter moved, he guessed her to be Moquan. She was probably the same one who had saved the foreign prince from Xie’s arrow the day before. Curse his old eyes.
Liang Yu looked up from under the brim of his wide straw hat, assessing. His former employer had suggested he might need to assassinate the princess if all of their other plans failed to shake up the ruling elites. Now, she made for an inviting target, guarded only by a handful of provincial guards and a Moquan hindered by a court dress. With the city on edge, he wouldn’t get a better chance to find her so unprotected.
Her death, if pinned on Madura, would ensure war. Against a Moquan and a battle-tested, champion archer, Liang Yu doubted he would live to see that war. Maybe he could have overcome them in his youth— though even then, he had been defeated and left for dead by a different elf.
He tightened his grip around his walking stick, ready to draw the blade concealed within. The smooth wood jarred the memory from just a few minutes before. The power of the princess’ voice, even from twenty-three feet away, had compelled him to drop his walking stick.
The day before, she’d also braved the chaos and fearlessly approached a would-be assassin. Perhaps the princess was not such an easy target after all. Perhaps she might be a worthy leader.
Liang Yu went back to weeding, wishing his ears had not deteriorated so much with age. What he would give to be able to hear what Zheng Ming would say once he caught up to the princess.
Zheng Ming couldn’t believe how quickly good luck could turn bad. His hands shaking on his reins, he waved toward the handmaiden’s horse. “Lord Steward, bring the other imperial stallion.”
He then turned to Li Feng, the common girl whom his friend Xie Shimin had been secretly courting. “Ms. Li, please accompany my steward into my province’s compound. You will be safe there.”
Ming took the reins of the imperial horse the handmaiden had left behind and set out in pursuit of the princess.
On horseback, it didn’t take long to catch up.
He found them in a quiet alley, where the princess leaned into her horse, one arm draped over its neck and her face in its mane. His fault. The handmaiden rested a hand in the bend of the princess’ elbow, even as her head shifted left and right.
She must’ve caught a glimpse of him peeking around the corner. Her eyes locked on his and she marched toward him. If his guards were as alert as this girl, he’d never have worry about ambushes. He stepped into the alley.
The handmaiden blocked his way. Her elven features seemed all the
more exquisite in her anger. “You have done enough to ruin the princess’ New Year.”
Ming didn’t have time for a girl, even a unique one such as this. He extended an arm to push past her.
His hand never reached her.
She brushed it aside and somehow managed to stay in front of him. He used his other hand, only to find himself spun around with his arm wrenched behind his back. A shove into his shoulders sent him stumbling a few steps.
Ming spun back around, hand on his dao.
The insolent girl stepped forward, pressing herself against him, her hand on his wrist. It probably would’ve excited him had she not been so young. She grinned. “It is bad luck to draw a blade on New Year’s Day.”
Though not a superstitious man, he hesitated. It would look bad if he cut down an unarmed handmaiden. It would look worse if he were bested by an unarmed handmaiden. He raised his hands and took a step back.
She kept pressuring him backward, only stopping when they reached the main road.
“Dian-xia,” he called, craning his neck around the girl’s omnipresence. “It is not what you think. I will explain on the way to the ship tomorrow.”
He scowled down at the half-elf again. She smirked. With a turn on his heel, he stomped back to his compound.
Not far from the gates, a stooped old woman, straw hat concealing her features, stood by a garden plot next to a house. She beckoned him over, and he came to a stop, not wanting to be rude on New Year’s Day.
“Did you win your princess’ heart back?” Her voice creaked with age. “Or was she too disgusted by your womanizing?”
The impertinence! As a noble, Ming had every right to slap the old hag. Yet it was a New Year. He settled for a glare.
The eyes of his mysterious informant twinkled back at him from beneath the hat’s brim.
