Gunpowder Alchemy

by Jeannie Lin

  While Tian continued to work on his sketch at the table, I finished clearing away the rest of the dishes, making sure to leave enough food warming for Nan. She usually ate by herself once we were done. For some reason, it was important for her to maintain that faint boundary between master and servant.

  “I’m going to be taking a trip tomorrow,” I told my brother once the kitchen was tidied.

  “Where to?”

  “Changsha with Merchant Hu. Now time for bed.”

  Tian didn’t move. “Why Changsha?”

  “This is an adult matter.”

  That meant that there would be no more discussion. He was still my little brother, and with Mother—with Mother the way she was lately, I was the head of the household.

  An eight-year-old boy shouldn’t need to worry about the price of rice and eggs. When I was a child in the capital city, clothing had appeared like magic. I was never afraid that the dinner table would be empty.

  Tian closed his notebook and rubbed his thumb over the spine in disappointment. He was growing old before his time, watching and listening to all around him. This village was too small for him.

  My brother belonged in the academies of Peking, studying mathematics and the sciences. He should be groomed for the engineering exams once he reached manhood. It was in his blood, but it wasn’t possible. Not here.

  “To bed, Tian.”

  My voice cracked. My brother didn’t seem to notice, or at least pretended not to. Good boy. He brushed the back of his knuckles over his bruised cheek, tucked his books and writing case close to his side, then headed out toward the room that he shared with Nan. I watched him disappear into the house while I breathed the evening air in deep and let the coolness of it sting against my skin.

  Sometimes, through the mist in the autumn or while my eyes were closed at night, or even while they were open and staring at the herbal cabinets in Lo’s shop, I could almost see the gilded buildings of Peking; the sprawl of the city with its towering pagodas and sparkling ponds. Once more, I walked through the hallways of the Ministry of Science as I’d done as a child. I could smell the sharp, chemical perfume of the laboratories.

  I needed to wake up. Wake up. Even though I knew I was no longer sleeping.

  Beyond the walls of our humble home were the tiny shops and homes of our farming village. Thatched rooftops, dull wooden hovels. Narrow streets of packed dirt and straw.

  The house was quiet now, which meant Mother wouldn’t stir for several hours. Maybe when she woke again, I could get her to eat something.

  With the oil lamp in hand, I went to the storeroom beside the kitchen. The space was kept desolately clean with the bins and jars mostly empty. Even mice sought better prospects. The basket in the corner held a layer of rice that was no more than a finger deep. The entire province was feeling the aftermath of a poor growing season.

  The wooden panel at the back of the storeroom creaked as I pried it open. I wedged my arm through the opening and rummaged around until my fingers wrapped around a solid object.

  Over the last years, we had gradually sold and bartered away our family treasures except for the few trinkets kept hidden here. I pulled out a bundle wrapped in green silk.

  Brushing away the dust, I untied the cloth. The light from the lamp flickered across the polished steel inside. Even after all this time, it remained untarnished.

  A puzzle box, my father had called it. The cube was the size of a large grapefruit and appeared to be made of several panels all welded perfectly together.

  I rotated it in my hands, running my fingertips over the surface. On first glance, the sides appeared uniform, but as I turned it, the light reflected off to reveal a geometric pattern of shaded squares and diamonds. Yet the metal was smooth to the touch and seamless to the eye. Only the right combination would open it.

  I tightened my grip and the honed edges cut into my palms. When the Emperor had stripped my father of his title, all of his inventions and records were seized and destroyed. His name was removed from the records of the imperial exams.

  The imperial guard had come to our house after Father’s arrest and ransacked his personal study. The metal puzzle box had always been kept upon his shelf, but on that day, it wasn’t there. I found it later, forgotten in a trunk of clothing that had been hastily packed.

  All I had left of Father was this trinket. I found the secret panel and slid it forward, activating the mechanism inside. With a whir of gears, the box shifted and opened only to reveal another closed compartment. A puzzle within a puzzle. I had loved this box so much when Father had first shown it to me.

  “It’s very valuable,” Father had warned, putting it up high so I couldn’t snatch it up in my little hands whenever curiosity struck.

  The memory faded, leaving only the threat of tears. I pinched two fingers to the bridge of my nose until the stinging in my eyes went away. Enough. There was nothing else to be done about it.

  What good were such memories anyway?

  I had decided what needed to be done earlier that day when Old Man Lo had counted out my earnings. He wasn’t stingy. On the contrary, he had given me more than my share.

  Physician Lo was a generous man who operated on the old tradition by which his patients only paid him when they were well. Thus he always had a stake in bringing his patients back to good health.

  Payment only sometimes came in the form of copper cash. Often he would be paid with a cup of rice or a quantity of salt or eggs. Whatever the villagers had to spare. Lately food was scarce and, as could be expected when the elements were unbalanced, sickness was common. For the last month, every coin Lo sent my way had been charity and I knew it.

  I had gone to the provincial capital of Changsha several times before. Usually when we needed to sell something that we had brought with us from Peking. There was no market for finery in Linhua.

  Someone in Changsha had to be willing to pay something for Father’s box this time around. It was the only thing we had left of any value.

  Chapter Two

  The next morning, I waited until Tian had left for school before preparing for the trip to Changsha. There wasn’t much to take, as I would only be away for two days.

  I brought the puzzle box from the storeroom and placed it into my satchel along with my acupuncture case. Then I dressed in Nan and Tian’s room so as to not disturb Mother, who was still sleeping. Over my usual plain robe, I put on my mandarin jacket, fastening the long row of cloth buttons down the front. It was made of sturdy, serviceable black cotton and adorned with a single looped pattern of embroidery along the border. A quick pat down of the bun at the nape of my neck assured me that all the hairpins were fixed in place. I hoped it made me appear older.

  Smoothing my hands over the jacket one final time, I slung the pack over my shoulder. I had to use a bucket of water in the kitchen as my mirror. I appeared to be a strong, serious woman with business on my mind, didn’t I? Not a young, desperate girl pretending to be worldlier than she was.

  Before going to the gate, I stopped and pulled aside the curtain to the adjoining chamber. Mother lay on her side in her pale sleeping garments. She wasn’t asleep as I had thought. Her eyes were aimed listlessly into the corner.

  “I’ll be back soon,” I said softly.

  My mother remained still, not acknowledging my presence in the least. I hoped that meant she was at least comfortable and not in pain, but I wasn’t certain. I let the curtain fall back in place and stepped quietly away.

  Nan was out sweeping the leaves at the front of the courtyard. I pressed a small purse into the old woman’s hand. The last of our household savings.

  “Only two pipes a day no matter what Mother says,” I said in a low tone. “Make her drink her tea and take food in between. And don’t let Tian wander too far after school.”

  Nan nodded. She had been with us so long that she unders
tood things without them being spoken aloud, but I told her anyway.

  Outside the gate, I could hear a wagon rolling to a stop. Merchant Hu had arrived with his shipment of goods packed into the back. My gaze swept once more over the small courtyard to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow,” I told Nan, knowing that I was drawing out the inevitable.

  “You be careful, my young lady.”

  The way Nan addressed me was more affectionate than formal. Still, it sounded strange to my ears. I was no lady.

  I greeted Hu, whom I knew from his visits to the herbal shop whenever he came to town. As I climbed up onto the driver’s seat, my stomach was a tangle of knots.

  Two days was not so long. Afterward, I would have new stories to tell Tian, and Mother would hardly realize I was gone. Old Man Lo could get by without me for a couple of days.

  Some of my anxiety had faded once the wagon pulled away from the village, though my shoulders remained tense. By the time we were on the open road, however, the immense weight had lifted from my shoulders and even the air seemed clearer.

  But then I was stricken with guilt. I was actually relieved to be leaving Linhua behind, if only for a little while.

  ***

  The road to Changsha was plagued with ruts. I found it reassuring that the path was well traveled, though we hadn’t seen anyone on it since leaving our village that morning.

  I sat beside Merchant Hu while he held the reins over the pair of mules that pulled the wagon. An iron fire lance rested between us, within easy reach.

  Summer was coming in fast this year and the sky was mercilessly clear. The sun glared down, baking the earth, and not a single cloud or shade tree provided any relief as the wagon rolled along.

  One of the wheels caught on an uneven patch of road, and I gripped the bottom of the wagon seat, trying to keep from jostling against Hu. He wasn’t quite a stranger, but he wasn’t familiar to me, either. All I knew was that Old Man Lo trusted him. Hu was a frequent visitor to our village as he transported goods from the major market areas to our dusty square.

  “Have you been to Changsha, Miss Jin?” he asked.

  “Once.”

  “No need to worry. We should be there long before nightfall.”

  I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road. The only news we heard of the provincial capital and the surrounding countryside came from merchants like Hu, and lately the reports hadn’t been reassuring. Years of drought had turned many of my countrymen to banditry. A traveler could be killed for nothing more than the handful of rice while outside the safety of the cities.

  “Old Lo speaks of you like a daughter,” the merchant continued. “‘She is quite focused,’ he tells me. ‘Clever, too.’”

  I shifted uncomfortably, not certain how to react to such praise. “Old Lo has always been very kind.”

  Hu was doing me a favor by allowing me to ride along to Changsha, and I at least owed him a little conversation to pass the time.

  “What are you bringing to sell in the capital?” I asked, glancing back over the many sacks and crates packed into the wagon.

  “Oh, odds and ends. I pick up salt, oil, other staples from Changsha and then cart them to the far corners of the province. Nothing fancy,” he said with a chuckle. “But I’ve done well enough. One wouldn’t think so, just looking at me, would they?”

  He tapped his chest twice in boast.

  Hu was middle-aged, plump around the middle and large in manner and gesture. In this time of famine, Hu certainly wasn’t going hungry, but I didn’t begrudge him his success. His profession required that he travel through the province in a constant cycle of buying and bartering.

  Another wagon approached from the opposite side as we neared a junction in the road. Reflexively, I lowered my hand into the pocket of my jacket to grip the needle gun.

  Hu glanced over as my shoulders tensed, but the wagon passed by with merely a nod from the driver to us.

  The merchant laughed. “Seeing rebels everywhere, Miss Jin?”

  I’d heard too many stories of bandits and rebels roaming the countryside. “Have you ever seen any?”

  “That filth prefers to hide out in caves far in the mountains,” Hu said dismissively.

  They said the rebels were wild animals, long-haired and savage. They were traitors who had rejected the authority of the imperial court and lived in lawless squalor. If that was true, why did we keep hearing that more had joined their camp?

  “In any case, their quarrel is with the imperial government. You and I, us common folk, we have nothing to fear.”

  Despite his assurances, Hu set a hand upon the fire lance beside him. The weapon was an ancient one, effective against a single foe, but hardly a threat against a band of rebels. My own gun could only load two needles at a time, each filled with a strong dose of sleeping potion. It was enough to slow an attacker or stop him completely, but once again, an unsuitable weapon for a large-scale attack.

  In Linhua, we listened to reports of brewing rebellion as tales of some far-off land, nothing that could affect our lives. We were more concerned with the price of rice and salt and cooking oil. But out here on the open road, all the stories suddenly loomed large around me.

  We stopped midday and Hu set about building a cooking fire to brew tea. I had finished tending to the mules when I noticed the merchant clutching his shoulder.

  “Is your arm bothering you today?”

  “It’s always worse on travel days.” Hu rotated his arm, working the joint. “Too much sitting in one place.”

  Hu periodically visited the herbal shop seeking a remedy for the ache in his shoulder. An injury from his youth, he said. It was how I had first made his acquaintance, though it was Physician Lo who usually tended to him.

  He continued to massage his shoulder, wincing until I had no choice but to offer.

  “Do you wish for me to see to that, sir?”

  I knelt in the grass and pulled aside his sleeve to press two fingers to the pulse point at his wrist. I wasn’t as concerned about his heart rate as I was the flow of qi through him. The course and rhythm of internal energy through the body was the source of all Lo had taught me. I could sense where the merchant’s muscles had stiffened, blocking the flow of qi along the meridians of his body.

  “I can try to lessen the pain,” I offered.

  “That would be very good of you, Miss Jin.”

  At the very least I could release some tension from his shoulders. It would be repayment for taking me to the city.

  I pulled out the acupuncture case from my bag. The hinges were tarnished and the wood worn smooth near the latch—Old Lo had given me the set he’d used as an apprentice.

  A diagram with all of the commonly known acupuncture points had been affixed to the inside. Slim wire needles were arranged in rows of varying length and thickness, and inserted into bands of silk to keep them in place.

  Rolling up his sleeve, I selected one of the thinnest needles and cleansed it with a vial of alcohol. I pressed against the meridian along Hu’s arm with the pad of my thumb to stimulate the flow of energy before inserting the tip just into the skin above his elbow. Hu didn’t flinch from the contact. Likely he felt nothing at all other than a faint tingle at the insertion point.

  I’d first learned about the mysteries of internal energy when my father had a mechanical arm fitted in place of the one he’d lost in an explosion at his laboratory. After the acupuncturists had attached the needles, he’d reached out to hold my hand. The steel fingers were surprisingly gentle and I was captivated.

  “The shoulder has been much better under your care,” Hu complimented.

  “You should thank Physician Lo, sir.”

  All I’d ever done for Hu was assist. I focused on fixing the second needle opposite the first one.

  “I hear from Lo
that business is slow lately,” he continued.

  “These are difficult times for everyone.”

  “Especially with the devil Yangguizi at our ports.”

  I nodded absently, keeping my focus on the needles. What foreigners at the trading ports had to do with business in our village was beyond me, but it was easy to blame the foreign devils for everything. There was the failure of the crops year after year, the spread of the black poison opium down every river and stream. The white ghosts were even blamed for the recent earthquakes that shook the region. I myself didn’t have any opinion about the Yangguizi. As long as they remained far away.

  “Fortunately business has been quite good for me,” Hu said with a small laugh. “More than enough for an old bachelor such as myself.”

  His pulse jumped beneath my fingertips and I glanced up. For a moment I caught an odd look in his eyes before he looked away.

  Lately, the merchant had been coming by Old Man Lo’s shop quite frequently, complaining of this ache or that pain. Despite the fact that Linhua was removed from major trade routes, Hu had been by twice in the last month alone.

  “I have been thinking hard on this.” He gave a nervous cough before continuing. “You are a very talented woman. And not really so bad to look at.”

  The third needle slipped from my fingers and I scrambled to catch it. My cheeks burned as I tried to regain focus. Did Old Man Lo know he was sending me to be courted? The physician didn’t strike me as a matchmaker, but Lo had suggested the merchant would be able to take me to the capital. And Hu had happily agreed.

  “You must be teasing, Mister Hu.”

  “Now, Miss Jin. You are no young, innocent girl. We can speak plainly, right?”

  My stomach churned as I applied the last needle. I really wasn’t so old. Only eighteen. But to the villagers, I was already passed over, left behind. I had taken up a trade, and a somewhat improper one for a woman.