by Cindy Pon
He was lying. The pirates would kill them and take the Gliding Dragon. Blood thirst mingled with greed ricocheted among the pirates to her. She flung herself forward, gripping the spirit of every man on the other ship. She held them immobile and focused on the pirate behind the flamethrower, leaped into his being. Excitement coursed though him, and his heart beat hard against his ribs. Heavy sweat rolled down his back.
He was the best with the flamethrower and itched to set the Gliding Dragon on fire. But not unless the idiots were dumb enough to fight. He wanted the loot but would almost trade it to ignite the ship. It would burn so gloriously.
Ai Ling was aware of the terrified babbling of the men who had discovered that they couldn’t control their limbs. Their terror mounted even as their captain shouted for calm. She folded herself over the pirate behind the flamethrower and took possession of his body. He mewed in surprise. She probed through his mind, understood how the weapon worked, and turned the four-wheel pushcart until its mouth was aimed at the bridge of the pirate ship.
The fire roared across the deck shooting up the masts and igniting the sails.
“Idiot! Are you mad?” the pirate captain bellowed. “We’re bedeviled!”
Ai Ling snapped back into her own being with a gasp and collapsed hard against the railing, trying to keep from sliding to the deck. The pirates were screaming. They would burn to death or drown. She didn’t know which fate was worse. The Gliding Dragon’s crew erupted into rowdy cheering, dancing behind her. The mist had cleared, and the sun rose like a blazing god across the sky. Hungry flames fed on the planks of the pirate ship, leaping like angry phantoms.
Suddenly a strong wind blew toward them, carrying the acrid scent of burning flesh and wood with it.
“Hurry, catch the wind and go!” Peng shouted, racing across the deck. “If one ember so much as touches us!”
Without warning, her knees buckled, and she slumped to the ground. Chen Yong caught her from behind and held her. Horrified shrieks filled the air, and the choking fumes of smoke and fire grew thicker.
Chen Yong picked her up, and only the feel of his strong arms kept Ai Ling conscious, grounded in reality. She clutched his tunic with tight fists, breathing him in: cotton and sweat and the faint scent of lemon. He somehow maneuvered down the steps, holding her still and gently seated her on a stool in the empty galley.
“You did that, didn’t you?” he asked in a quiet voice.
Unable to answer him, she rested her head in her arms. She was trembling so hard it was difficult to stay on the stool. He brought her water, and she made herself sip it slowly.
“That entire crew will die,” she finally whispered.
“They probably planned the same fate for us.” He sat beside her and held her elbow, his concern a dark swelling around them.
“But you weren’t the one who sent them to their deaths.”
His fingers tightened a fraction. “No. But I would have killed them to stay alive. You did what you had to.”
She wiped the heat from her eyes. “I’m tired of it, doing what I have to.”
He paused, then said quietly, “Your dream of Li Rong was right. You saved our lives.”
She doubled over, hugging herself, unable to look at him.
“Did your necklace glow?” he asked.
Ai Ling snorted, but it came out as a rasp, like a gulp for one last breath. She gripped her clouded pendant and shoved it in his face. “The gods have abandoned me. Abandoned and used me like they did Li Rong.” She yanked on the gold chain so hard it snapped, and the pendant fell.
He caught it in one hand, the motion lightning quick.
She wanted to cry. For Li Rong. For herself. But her eyes remained dry. Her face burned. Her neck. Her chest. “Throw it into the sea,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Ai Ling.” Chen Yong’s voice was rough. He closed a cool hand over her open palm, leaned forward, and cupped her cheek.
Peng bounded in, and Chen Yong jerked back.
“Here’s our heroine!” Peng proclaimed. “Ai Ling, you warned us about the attack. And the fates blew their own flames back at them. It’s a fortuitous sign indeed. The gods smiled down upon us.”
Perfect. She wanted to cackle.
“I’ve asked Lao Lu to sacrifice a chicken. We must give thanks and celebrate. You’ll be the guest of honor.”
At that moment her belt slipped from her waist, and her dagger clattered to the floor. Ai Ling stared at it, perplexed.
Chen Yong bent down and retrieved it for her. “Why is the blade black?”
“I don’t know,” she lied.
Peng drew closer, his brow creased. “Bring it to me. I may be able to clean it.” He studied it for a moment longer before stepping back. “I’ll see you both at dinner. My gratitude, Ai Ling.” He nodded and left.
It took all her strength to hold her head up. She was burning, blazing so hot she was certain that her skin crisped, fell in piles of ash from her bones.
Chen Yong pulled her into his steady coolness, lifted her in his arms, and she rested her head against his shoulder.
She was asleep before he made it to their cabin.
Mei Gui was expecting. Zhong Ye wanted to jump and holler when Silver Phoenix shared the good news. Instead, he grinned widely as if he had drunk too much wine. “Wonderful,” he said.
Silver Phoenix lifted her chin. There was not a fraction of handmaid in her. She was too self-assured, too smart…too beautiful.
“That’s the first genuine smile I’ve ever seen from you, Master Zhong.”
His eyes widened. “You share good news.”
“You should smile more,” she said. “You always look so serious.”
She smelled of jasmine and spring. Zhong Ye wanted to pluck the pins from her thick hair one by one and bury his face in it. He took a step back. “Being the Emperor’s adviser is a serious task.”
Silver Phoenix touched her looped braid in one elegant motion, considering him in a way that made him want to shift on his feet. “I’ll keep you informed of my mistress’s progress. Should I tell anyone else?”
“It’s too soon. Let me tell the Emperor when the time is right.”
She inclined her head, a hint of a smile on her rouged lips. He exited Mei Gui’s quarters, trying very hard to clear his mind.
The oppressive summer months gave way to autumn. Zhong Ye continued to work closely with Yokan, finding ways to ingratiate himself, sharing the gossip at court, telling him about the Emperor’s alchemists and their reputations and projects. After his return from summer progress, the Emperor resumed meeting with Yokan alone, elevating the foreign alchemist even higher in the eyes of the court.
Yokan was given his own elaborate study to conduct his research. All four walls were lined with shelves, piled high with books, boxes, and jars, full of compounds the alchemist had gathered from around the world for his studies. Glass lanterns, shining even during the day, were scattered around the square chamber. Yokan had asked the Emperor to make Zhong Ye his official apprentice. Surprised by his good fortune, Zhong Ye spent many hours reading aloud and interpreting texts for the foreigner. Yokan translated what he heard into his own language and transcribed it into bound books with thick pages.
The study never smelled the same on any given day. This morning the faint scent of licorice root permeated the air.
“I’ve studied Xian for eight years, yet reading the ancient texts still proves difficult for me,” Yokan murmured, his head bent over a leather volume.
“I think your command of the language is impressive,” Zhong Ye said. They were reading from The Book of the Divine, and Yokan had many questions.
“Do you believe in the gods? Of the underworld and its retributions?”
Zhong Ye paused. He had become used to Yokan’s personal questions, always direct. “I’ve never felt the presence of any god in my life.”
Yokan glanced up. His eyebrows were so light it appeared he had none. The effect was disconc
erting. “I see. And you are not one to believe unless you feel something?”
“Even that is so ambiguous. How can one be sure it’s real if it cannot be seen or touched?” Zhong Ye asked.
“What about love?” The foreigner straightened on the stool and smiled thinly.
Zhong Ye tried to contain his surprise. “Love? What of love?”
“Love cannot be seen or touched, but it’s real, is it not? Surely, you’ve been in love before?”
Zhong Ye suddenly felt defensive. Even after four months of working daily with this man, he still knew very little of Yokan, who he was or what he thought. “No. I’ve had no time for love.” He caught himself thinking of Silver Phoenix.
“Interesting.” Yokan bent over his book again, his quill raised.
Zhong Ye suppressed his irritation. He couldn’t ingratiate himself by acting abrupt. “And you? Have you ever loved someone?” he asked politely.
Yokan gave a slight shake of his head. “I, too, have had no time for love. It’s an unnecessary distraction.” He scratched something onto the parchment. “A weakness.”
“Is it true that you know the secret to eternal life?” Zhong Ye asked. Yokan had never mentioned it again in conversation, after that first day in court. But there must be some truth to his claim, or why else would the Emperor continue to meet with him alone?
“Have you read from The Book of the Dead?” Yokan asked, looking directly at Zhong Ye.
It was as if sharp needles were dancing across his scalp—Zhong Ye would never become used to the pale blue color of the foreigner’s eyes. “Only parts, random pages. I’ve never seen the actual book.”
“You will help me translate the entire volume,” Yokan said, tapping the tip of his quill against the blackwood table.
Zhong Ye swallowed hard. The Book of the Dead was evil. One studied from it only if one were a monk, wanting to combat and understand the enemy. Or if one were devoted to the dark arts. His pulse throbbed fast against his throat, and he nodded. He would do anything to learn Yokan’s secrets.
Zhong Ye walked along the edge of the massive palace square after meeting with a young boy of no more than twelve years, a eunuch and a favorite of the Empress’s for his falsetto voice. She was not with child, having been called to the Emperor’s bedchamber only once in the past two months. And her relationship with the Emperor’s top adviser was souring. Zhong Ye had allowed himself a small smile when he heard the news and had pressed a pouch of coins into the boy’s palm. Zhong Ye kept a wide network of spies, each bribed with coins, favors, or threats—whatever combination reaped the best results.
His boots crunched on golden leaves as he walked through the oblong courtyard that connected the outer court to the inner court. Guards saluted him before pulling the massive doors open. The salute was a first, and he wondered what he had done recently or whom he had been seen with that would have garnered this new show of respect.
One of the higher-ranking concubines, surrounded by a retinue of handmaids, was strolling toward him. She was twenty years and had a daughter of two years by the Emperor. Zhong Ye stopped and bowed with a flourish. He did not rise until she nodded at him, smiling. “Master Zhong,” she said.
One of her silly handmaids tittered behind a silk sleeve.
“It’s been too long since you’ve visited.” She peered up at him coquettishly from beneath lowered lashes. “Not since you’ve been promoted.”
“I’m always at your service, lady.”
She pressed an ivory hand to his chest, tipping her head back to capture his gaze. “Yes. I’ll remember that, Master Zhong.” She had always been too liberal with her touch.
He did not meet her eyes but only bowed lower. She swirled away in a flutter of colorful silks. Her handmaids chattered and giggled, not caring that their voices carried to him.
“Can you believe, only eighteen years…”
“So handsome. Those eyes…”
“It truly is a pity that…” This handmaid had enough decorum to lower her voice.
Zhong Ye felt the blood rush to his face.
“It only means I’ll have to be more creative with him.” The concubine’s words rang out from the other end of the courtyard, and her handmaids erupted in laughter.
He remained with his head inclined and his hands clasped behind his back—clasped so hard he had gouged nail marks into one wrist—until the courtyard was empty. He rubbed his temple when they were gone. Working in the concubines’ inner quarters was often like navigating through a chamber of serpents.
Silver Phoenix was waiting for him when he entered Mei Gui’s quarters. His mood lifted the moment he saw her. She brushed her fingertips on his arm, the lightest touch, startling him. “I have bad news,” she said in a low voice. He closed the panel.
“My mistress began bleeding heavily this morning. She’s bedridden.”
Zhong Ye punched one fist into a carved chair. “Does anyone know?”
“Did you ever tell the Emperor?” Silver Phoenix’s black eyes darted to her mistress’s bedchamber.
“Of course not. I would have told you,” he said, his mind searching for the best course of action. All thoughts fled when she glided to stand directly in front of him. The top of her head barely reached his chin, but the way she held herself made her appear taller.
“Can we trust each other, Master Zhong?” The scent of her jasmine perfume filled him. “I want the best for my mistress. And you wish to see her rise in status as well?”
As long as she held the Emperor’s interest, yes. As long as it benefitted him, he thought. “Was the royal physician told?”
“No. I sent for some willow bark to ease her pain,” Silver Phoenix replied. “I said that she had a bad headache.”
He could have swept her into his arms, he was so relieved. She was smart. He spontaneously reached for her hand, and she didn’t mask her astonishment. “This doesn’t change my plans for your mistress. We can still rise together in the Emperor’s eyes. If you’ll listen to what I say.”
“Haven’t I always?”
“Yes. It’ll be your task to ready her for the Emperor’s bedchamber—”
“She just lost her child!” Silver Phoenix met his gaze unabashedly. Two spots of color flared on her cheeks.
“The Emperor enjoys your mistress’s company. He has asked for her consistently these past months. It’s not a time to disappear.”
He released her slender hand, still feeling the warmth of her skin. “There are thousands of other women to choose from. You understand me? And this court runs on ambition alone.” He knew she understood perfectly. “Help her heal. Prepare her to be called again by His Majesty.”
Silver Phoenix gave a slight shake of her head. “I won’t have you hurt her, Zhong Ye.”
He swallowed, surprised to hear her speak his full name. “If you wish to see your mistress rise, you’ll do this.”
“She’ll need at least a month. This is no small—”
“We don’t have a month. I’ll make certain the Emperor is occupied with his usual choices. It’s been four days since he saw Mei Gui last. I can give you four more.”
She blanched, opened her mouth, then closed it, pressing her full lips into a line. “I understand.” She walked back to the bedchamber panel, but before she slid it open, she turned to him. “Know that you need us as much as we need you, Master Zhong.”
He inclined his head, hiding a half-smile. There were many concubines to choose from, if the Emperor’s interest in Mei Gui waned or if she took too long to become with child again. But no other concubine had Silver Phoenix as her handmaid. Zhong Ye, unsettled by the revelation, straightened when she was gone.
It was well past the thieving hour. Zhong Ye’s shoulders and neck ached from crouching over The Book of the Dead. Yokan had food brought to them, but Zhong Ye had eaten very little, his appetite robbed by the demons and monsters he read about. The alchemist sat opposite him at the wide blackwood table, rolls of parchment littering
its surface so it looked more white than ebony.
Yokan dipped his quill in the inkpot again and nodded, indicating that he was ready for the next passage. Zhong Ye took a sip of dark tea before speaking. “Between the peaks, where the sun never touches but the moon glows, grows the empress root. Named after the Mother Goddess and shaped like a woman, the empress root burrows deep in wet earth. It grows to the length of a palm and smells of almond fruit when sliced. The empress root’s ability to give life is unrivaled.”
Zhong Ye paused and cleared his throat. “What does it mean, ‘ability to give life’? A fertility herb?”
Yokan continued to write with neat strokes, then finally set his quill down. He pinched the high bridge of his nose, obviously worn by the long day’s work as well. “This empress root is what we need to help create the spell for eternal life.” His smile was tight, his face made even more pale by the flickering lantern light.
Zhong Ye stretched his arms overhead. He needed fresh air; he needed to practice his shuen forms until he felt the warmth of his own blood pumping. “I’ve never heard of it. Or seen it in any herbal shop.”
“This is the problem and the challenge.” Yokan rose from his stool and began pacing the study. “According to the research I did back in Paan, the puzzle always leads me to the empress root, which can be found only somewhere within Xia. But there is bare mention of this root here and no indication of its location. Does any place come to mind from that riddle?”
Zhong Ye reread the paragraph and shook his head.
“More clues. We need more clues to tell us how to find this root,” Yokan said. “My immortality spell is useless without it.”
“How can you be so certain it will work?”
“Because I used empress root once in Paan, as I lay weak, watching Death trying to clamber through my tower window.” Yokan touched the silver hoop in his ear. “It gave me life again. Since then I’ve put all my effort into creating this new spell, every ingredient precisely calibrated so the empress root’s power can be maximized, can be tapped to give a person life on top of life.”
