Because You Love To Hate Me

by Ameriie

  “Goddess of Purity,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  Mei Feng had prayed to her for guidance, and the goddess had come to comfort her. She had witnessed this cruel act, this terrible misdeed by another god; the goddess had come to make things right.

  “How dare you utter my name?” The Goddess of Purity spoke in a clear voice, as cold and cutting as glass.

  Mei Feng’s head jerked up, confused.

  “I pulled the strings of fate, chose you myself to be delivered to the emperor as a new bride,” the goddess said. “And you let yourself be defiled instead. Who will want you now?”

  Mei Feng leaped to her feet, arms thrust forward, palms open in supplication. “Goddess, no. I didn’t want this. I tried to fight—”

  “Did you say no?”

  “I did,” Mei Feng replied with vehemence. “I tried to push him off.” The tears finally came, hot against her cheeks, and a sob tore through her sore, battered body. “But I didn’t have enough strength.”

  “Did you refuse him during his first visit?” The goddess arched one black brow. “Did you say no during his second?”

  Mei Feng stared at the Goddess of Purity, suddenly understanding. “It is not my fault.” She dashed her tears away in an angry gesture. “You cannot blame me for this.”

  “Oh?” The goddess raised her arms in a graceful arc, expanding, growing to twice her size. She towered over Mei Feng. “How dare you, pathetic mortal girl, presume to look upon a god, much less consort with one? You were blessed with beauty and used it to lure an immortal’s attention.”

  Mei Feng shook her head, unable to speak. Unable to believe what she was hearing.

  “You will be punished for reaching so high, girl—for letting a god spill his seed in you.” She pointed a finger at Mei Feng.

  Her body stiffened, and pain arced through it; agony racked her mind and her soul, her flesh. Mei Feng’s blood boiled, and she fell facedown into the dirt, burning pain radiating from her legs. She cried out, but no sound came. Pushing herself onto her hands, she tried to rise. She watched in horror as the flesh of her arms turned green, the color of mold, and her skin blistered with pockmarks and warts. “What is happening?” she growled. Her voice had turned thick and gravelly, monstrous.

  “Fitting punishment,” the goddess replied.

  Something hissed beside her ears, tugging at her scalp. Mei Feng swatted at her hair, but it had disappeared. She grasped the thick body of a snake instead, and it writhed in her palm, sinking its fangs into her wrist. “No,” she said, and heard hundreds of serpents hiss in unison, felt them wrench against her head. She tried to go to the goddess, to plead again for her innocence, and slithered toward the immortal, only realizing then she no longer had legs.

  The Goddess of Purity smiled a serene smile. “Fitting punishment indeed.” She conjured a large, bronzed mirror and held it toward Mei Feng. “You are now as ugly and horrifying as you were once beautiful and alluring.”

  Mei Feng gaped at the image reflected back at her. Her face had turned a putrid green, lumpy with warts. Her eyes had become sunken holes, the orbs pure black. They stared back at her without any trace of humanity, of feeling. Black snakes writhed where her long raven hair had been, undulating, fangs bared. She reared back from the goddess, dropping the mirror; it thudded to the ground.

  “Beautiful Phoenix doesn’t seem such an appropriate name any longer,” the goddess said. “You will go by Mei Du from now on—Beautiful Venom. Although there is nothing pretty about you, is there? I do enjoy the irony.” The goddess turned her wrist in a flourish, and the mirror disappeared. “I thought I would let you gaze upon your own face this once, understand what you have become. But as a word of caution, I would avoid your own reflection from now on.”

  Mei Feng slid forward, throwing herself at the hem of the goddess’s dress. “Please, lady!” she rasped. “Have mercy. I have done nothing wrong.”

  But when she looked up, the goddess was already gone, and the snakes hissing against her ear was her only reply.

  Mei Du fled in grief and terror after the Goddess of Purity inflicted her punishment. Not knowing where to go, where she could hide, she slithered through farms and terraced fields, passing small villages or finding herself lost in large towns. Disoriented and confused, she left destruction in her wake.

  Stone statues of her victims marked a macabre trail of her travels. They were young and old and from every class—their only similarity the horror forever etched into their grey features. One peasant woman had dropped to her knees, hands ripping at her own hair. A young scholar had been turned to stone with his arms thrust out, hands splayed, hoping to ward off an unspeakable evil. A small boy of seven years had collapsed onto his side, legs drawn into his chest in a fetal position, mouth agape and eyes shut tight.

  But it had been too late.

  What was seen could not be unseen, Mei Du learned, when it came to the power of her gaze.

  It didn’t take long for her infamy to spread. Soon, mobs were chasing her, wielding spears and axes, the farmers carrying heavy spades or pitchforks. Their legs were no match for the power and speed of her serpentine coil, but sometimes they managed to corner her, and she had no choice but to look in their eyes to survive. It never took more than three people turned to stone before the crowds would retreat, screaming curses and obscenities, or moaning in sorrow and fear.

  They cast flaming torches at her, burning the green scales of her serpent body and blistering the thick, pocked skin of her torso and arms. Expert archers shot at her from afar, puncturing her abdomen and back. She wrenched those arrows out and threw them aside. Her wounds healed almost instantly. Mei Du’s curse had been to live in this mortal realm, not to die. Her punishment was to suffer in her monstrosity and solitude, to cause death and wreck havoc, inflict tragedy and terror.

  Months slid into years, and the years slid into oblivion. In the beginning, she missed her home, her family, wondered if they grieved for her, grateful that they would never know her terrible fate. But then her loved ones’ faces began to blur and fade, as did the details of her mortal life. Sometimes a small memory would emerge, like desert winds revealing a long-forgotten treasure in the sand—the fragrant scent of jasmine tea, a lone lotus perched on a deep green leaf in a tranquil pond, or the sound of laughter drifting over a high manor wall—stirred something wistful within Mei Du’s chest. These shining, scattered moments from another life always left her feeling bereft.

  As time wore on, those remembrances disappeared. And as people continued to hunt her with sticks and knives and axes, as they continued to taunt her with curses and slurs, she began to look each and every one of them in the eyes instead of averting her gaze. She took pleasure in turning their contempt into stone.

  Mei Du knew that she would live long, reviled and hated.

  It was as the goddess had wished it.

  Then, that fateful day, the one prophesied to slay her finally found her. Mei Du crouched motionless behind a thick pillar; there were ten in the abandoned temple, rising to the tall roof like sentinels. The red and gold paint on them had long since flaked off. She wanted a glimpse of this glorified hero who the mortals were convinced could end her. The dust dissipated to reveal a young man not yet twenty years, holding a sword in one hand and a shield in the other with a majestic eagle etched upon it. Both the sword and shield gleamed, polished to a mirrored shine.

  But it wasn’t this that caught Mei Du’s attention, not the young man’s height nor the taut muscles of his bare arms—it was the faint glow that limned his frame. There was no mistaking it. The God of the Sea had held the same inner light. This young man was no mere mortal; he was divine, or touched by a god somehow.

  Blood roared in her ears, and she slid back, her long serpent coil whispering against the stone floor. Fear gripped her as those encounters with the god disguised as Hai Xin erupted again, memories she had buried long ago—had forced herself to forget. She trembled, a tremor that vibrated to the
tip of her tail. The young man turned his head in her direction, his hand gripping the sword tighter. His black hair was pulled back in a topknot, revealing strong cheekbones and the masculine cut of his jawline. He smelled of metal and sweat, and the bloodlust that had become so familiar to Mei Du over the centuries, emanating from the men who hungered to kill her.

  The first time one had found Mei Du in an abandoned dwelling, she had hoped for help, understanding, some sort of salvation. She had hoped he had come to free her from this unfair curse cast by a vengeful goddess. But Mei Du’s hope dwindled with each man who appeared, on purpose or accidental misfortune. It had dwindled with each encounter suffused with their fear and loathing, always screaming, sometimes fumbling for a sharp weapon, until she ended it by meeting their gaze.

  A few were so overcome with terror they shut their eyes. Those she sank her fangs into, tasting the bitter venom that filled her mouth. Wild animals would come later to eat the corpse.

  She never had to wait very long.

  But this would-be hero was different, as the rumors had declared. She could feel it in her bones just as she could taste the bright scent of him in the air. He was god-touched somehow. Perhaps the Goddess of Purity had sent him as a test, or the God of the Sea as an envoy to reclaim what he never should have taken so brutally in the first place. Mei Du didn’t know, but she saw again in her mind’s eye the innocent girl struggling to her feet, legs shaking as she tried to rearrange her torn skirt. Mei Du felt again that girl’s pain and confusion, horror and heartache.

  Rage filled her, as hot as the torches that have been thrown over the years, blistering her skin and scorching her scales. She waited for the intruder’s gaze to turn in another direction, and in that instant, slithered across the temple behind another pillar, faster than he could blink. Hissing deep, the sound reverberated through the vast space, and the man stiffened.

  Sweat gathered at his brow, and she at last tasted his fear in the air, sharp and sour. She felt a spike of pleasure from the scent. Perhaps she’d take her time, tease him as a snake would her prey. God-touched or not, this man would die like all the others—screaming in agony and regret.

  The intruder edged farther into the temple, sword raised, his silver shield lifted at chest height. His movements were assured, powerful, yet he kept his head lowered and his gaze averted.

  Mei Du grinned, the act so unnatural it felt as if her face had split, cracking the pustules and thick scales of her cheeks. The man slipped behind a pillar, and she slithered to the lone statue that still stood: the Goddess of Purity. She hissed again and circled the sculpture, taunting the intruder.

  She caught a brief glimpse of the angry serpents on her head reflected on his shield.

  The man had skulked closer, hiding behind another pillar.

  Mei Du screamed, a guttural and primal sound, then thrust her shoulder against the goddess statue. It teetered, groaning as it swayed. She shoved it with both hands, and it crashed uproariously. Good riddance, she thought as dust rose. Knowing the man’s vision would be obscured, she seized the opportunity and slid to where he hid, her heightened sense of smell revealing to her exactly where he cowered.

  She slid toward him within a breath but was surprised to see the intruder disappear as swift as the wind behind another pillar, the thick air shrouding him. Mei Du lunged forward, anger and hurt coiled heavy in her chest. She scrabbled on her hands low to the ground, before rising high on her serpent coil to meet her enemy—to look him in the eyes.

  The slightest breeze stirred behind her.

  She whirled, fangs bared.

  A flash of silver, too late, and a thin whistle as the blade fell.

  Then darkness veiled her.

  BENJAMIN ALDERSON’S VILLAIN CHALLENGE TO CINDY PON:

  Medusa. Go!

  WITHOUT THE EVIL IN THE WORLD, HOW DO WE SEE THE GOOD?

  BY BENJAMIN ALDERSON

  For me, villains are extremely important factors in young adult literary fiction. Without them, how do we see the good in a novel? But there are some villains who aren’t all evil, or at least didn’t start out that way.

  My yiayia used to read Greek mythology to me as a child. Even when I was that young, Medusa interested me. Her story was different from the others. I never could understand why she was a villain. I bombarded my yiayia with questions, wondering why the goddess Athena blamed Medusa for the actions of Poseidon, the God of the Sea. Was Medusa a villain or a victim?

  Cindy Pon puts her own spin on Medusa in “Beautiful Venom.” An advocate for diverse fiction, she completely changed the Medusa character from the one we know from ancient Greek mythology and brought her into the twentieth-first century in a new and unique way.

  FAVORITE PART AND LINE:

  Okay, Ben, deep breath. This story just loved messing with my emotions, especially the conversation between Master Yang and Lady Jia while Mei Feng is having her portrait painted. The exchange is filled with humor and jests, and it left me clutching my stomach in laughter. That leads to my favorite line from the story. “I am sure she is as fertile as a sow with nine pairs of teats” is laced with sass and sarcasm and is intended to shock Lady Mei. And it worked perfectly. I had a completely laugh-out-loud moment. Hilarious.

  FAVORITE CHARACTER:

  Mei Feng, aka Mei Du. Throughout the whole story, my heart really went out to Mei Feng. First she is being practically sold off to the emperor by her family. Mum and dad, get it together! Then she stumbles across this “evil” presence that is almost stalking her. Then the evil presence steals her innocence, and she is blamed for his actions. I mean, come on. I couldn’t help but feel that this story is a reflection of modern views of rape: blaming the victim instead of prosecuting the villain. Hmmmm, a very raw and honest representation, something I am really glad has been brought up in this young adult story, as it is we young adults who must take on this situation and talk about it.

  MOST MEMORABLE MOMENT:

  The conversation between Mei Feng and the Goddess of Purity. You would expect a goddess to be good and trustworthy. But Cindy completely flipped this. The way the Goddess of Purity deals with what Mei Feng had just been through is shocking. It really goes to show that although you are in a position of authority and are looked at as a “good person,” actions speak louder than words. And trust me, the Goddess of Purity has a lot to say. She is filled with bitterness and jealousy and portrays herself in the most perfect way, as the evil b . . . eing she is.

  HERO TWIST:

  At first, when we meet Hai Xin, I thought he was going to be the hero of the story. He came in, pulsing with power, and took Mei’s breath away. I was like, “Oh yeah, hot love interest—you go, Mei.” Then I carried on reading! And boy, I did not see him being the God of the Sea. To be honest with you all, he was more than a god—he was a jerk! I mean, hello! It makes perfect sense! This take on Medusa with an Asian twist was just perfect.

  ISSUES THAT ARE LEFT OPEN-ENDED AND HOW I FEEL ABOUT THAT:

  The important issue that Cindy has highlighted so brilliantly is the way victims of rape are treated. In the story, Mei Feng is blamed and scolded for “catching the eye” of Hai Xin. The Goddess of Purity blames Mei Feng for Hai Xin’s actions, but she is the victim. It is sad to say, but even in today’s world, people have the same views as the Goddess of Purity when it comes to rape. Questions such as “What were you wearing?” and “Did you say no?” and “What did you do to provoke it?” are asked to the victims of rape, instead of focusing on the criminal behind the act. Cindy deals with this in a sensitive yet honest and raw way. Her story highlights the issue perfectly, presenting it to young readers. I hope you, as a reader, interpret this story in your own way, but still come together and talk about this issue. We must not ignore it.

  IN CONCLUSION:

  As a reader, I was able to fall into this story . . . if only it were a hundred thousand words longer! I am a huge lover of twists in stories, and the ending of Mei Feng’s story defiantly quenched my thi
rst for twists.

  I almost wish I could speak to Mei Feng, or write her a letter. I would start off by saying, “You’re not alone.” I would tell her she was not in the wrong and that there are people who would listen and believe her. It is important that victims of such events know they are not alone and they are not to blame.

  Mei Feng taught me that villains have stories, too. Seeing their perspective gives me a better understanding of the characters, which helps me understand their actions. It takes the dark to see the light and the bad to see the good.

  But what drives both is a whole other story.

  DEATH KNELL

  BY VICTORIA SCHWAB

  I.

  Death is a boy with brown eyes.

  A boy with bare feet and worn knees and a shirt missing a button.

  A boy with copper hair and lashes that part like clouds.

  It is raining when he wakes at the bottom of the well.

  He is curled on his side, tucked in like a withered rose, and his body rustles in a papery way as he unfolds, back coming to rest against the mossy stone side of the well. He inhales, the air stale in his waking lungs, his pulse a low tap-tap beneath the storm as he holds out his hands to catch the drops of rain. Death has lovely hands—one smooth, the other skeletal—and water beads against his fingers; it drips between his bones.

  He looks up with those eyes the color of wet earth.

  He has seen them reflected—not in the well, for the well is empty—but in the places where water gathers after rain. They do not seem to belong to him, those eyes, though of course they do, set into his face like knots in an old tree.