by Cindy Pon
“But how did you come across the root in Paan?”
“For years it had been sitting in a jar in the royal laboratory. The last Paan diplomat who traveled to Xia only dabbled in alchemy. A monk showed him the root, told him it was so powerful it could cure any ailment, perhaps potent enough to give ever-lasting life. The diplomat didn’t believe him, but he was curious enough to buy it at a rather exorbitant price. He thought he could amuse our court with the tale. Even then the monk shaved off only a few thin slices.” Yokan laughed. “In his journal my predecessor wrote that he argued with the monk, saying he wouldn’t be swindled and demanding the entire root. The monk insisted that he was offering the shavings at a ridiculously low price. So all I had were two shavings. The diplomat also sketched in detail what the root looked like and mentioned the compelling aroma of almonds when the monk cut into it.”
Zhong Ye shook his head, a little unsteady from lack of food and exhaustion. “I don’t know if I believe it myself. A half-mad monk and a bewildered foreigner. It’s chasing delusions and dreams.”
“And what judgment have you passed on my character, after half a year of working at my side?”
Zhong Ye was taken aback, and nothing came readily except the truth. “You are well studied and admirable in your knowledge of alchemy.”
Yokan nodded, a hint of a smile on his thin mouth. He swept a hand over his silver charms before waving Zhong Ye away. “We’ll solve this riddle together, Zhong, you and I. And reap the rewards. Go sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Zhong Ye stumbled on the last step out of Yokan’s quarters but caught himself with the base of his palm. The scrape stung, and it helped clear his mind. Was he wasting his time with this old foreigner and his dreams of immortality? He saw his breath in the frigid evening air. Bare branches silhouetted against the moonlight reached like gnarled fingers toward the sky. He shivered. Winter had arrived without his noticing.
Zhong Ye knew the way through the labyrinth of courtyards and elaborate halls and quarters as if the palace were his own, but the day’s work and lack of sustenance had dulled his wit. He didn’t realize Silver Phoenix had approached him from behind until he smelled jasmine. He stopped to greet her. The handmaid paused at the same moment, like a dancer anticipating her partner’s next step.
“I’m sorry to catch you so late, Master Zhong, but I’ve been waiting to speak with you all day.” Her tone was soft and blended into the whispers of the evening. She had a thin coat pulled over her tunic. She deserved to be dressed more resplendently.
The moon was halved, like a slice of melon in the sky. It barely illuminated her features. He wanted to trace the curve of her cheek and almost shook his head: that he could nurse this ridiculous infatuation. Instead, he gave a tired smile. “What is it?”
“You’re exhausted,” she said. “Follow me.” Silver Phoenix turned and began walking toward her mistress’s quarters. Zhong Ye hesitated but did as she asked. He hadn’t seen her in three days since the last time he had brought Mei Gui to the Emperor’s bedchamber. He had missed her.
She led him into a small building tucked behind Mei Gui’s quarters. The cramped reception hall was filled with fabrics and embroidering. It was humbly furnished with rough wooden furniture, but Silver Phoenix moved through the chamber like an empress. “Please sit. I had just called for a light meal for my mistress, which she refused.” She waved an elegant hand toward a lacquered tray on the small round table.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked as he seated himself on a stool.
“I’ve already eaten.”
He plucked stewed beef and carrots from a small dish and scooped the cold rice porridge into his mouth with wooden eating sticks. His hands shook slightly. Silver Phoenix poured them both hot tea and settled on a stool across from him. “Don’t you eat?”
He laughed. “Working with Yokan can be intense. I find I often forget…or don’t have an appetite.”
“What are you working on?”
Zhong Ye took another bite before answering. “I’m helping him translate ancient text. His knowledge of Xian is not strong.”
Silver Phoenix took a sip of tea and regarded him. “Is he a good man?”
“He’s a superb scholar and alchemist.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She began unpinning her hair, the braids unwinding until they touched her shoulders.
His heart leaped into his mouth. He cleared his throat before speaking. “That’s my judgment. He’s intelligent and ambitious.”
“I see.” She started to unravel the loose braids with slender fingers.
He put down his eating sticks. “Please stop.” He gestured at her hair, and her eyes widened.
“Oh. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. But I thought my being a handmaid and a song girl before that and you, you’re—” The color that stained her cheeks made her look even lovelier.
He felt the heat in his own face as he shoved back from the table and stood. “What exactly did you need to speak with me about?” His tone was morning frost.
Silver Phoenix dropped her hands into her lap. “It’s my mistress. She’s with child again.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Ai Ling’s eyes flew open. Chen Yong leaned over her, gripping her shoulders. “You were shouting in your sleep,” he murmured.
Her next breath hitched into a sob.
“What was it?”
“It was…just a dream,” she said.
“A nightmare?”
She turned her face to the wall. “I—I can’t remember.” It was true. But she had a lingering feeling of being violated. Trapped.
“You’ve slept for two days. I think you should eat something and go up on deck for fresh air.”
Ai Ling felt the gentle sway of the ship, a comfort now, a constant. She let herself be pulled to her unsteady feet.
Only Peng and the cook were in the galley. The captain stood when she entered. “I was beginning to worry.” He gestured for Lao Lu to bring food and tea. “But Chen Yong reassured me that sometimes you have these long sleeping spells?”
She gave a weak nod and settled onto a stool. Lao Lu placed a tea-stewed egg in front of her, with rice and pickles. She was starving.
“Your older brother looks after you well,” Peng said.
She ducked her head and scooped more rice into her mouth with the eating sticks.
“You missed a great celebratory dinner. But Lao Lu insisted on keeping some chicken meat and broth for you.”
She turned to the cook, who was busy chopping carrots and mushrooms behind them. “I’m grateful,” she said.
Lao Lu grunted.
“We have a supply of medicines on board. Lao Lu is actually well trained in diagnosing ailments,” Peng said. She noticed that his hair had grown a little longer in these past weeks, and it just touched the tops of his ears. “Would you like to consult with him?”
“No. But thank you,” she replied. “I was just tired and a little seasick.”
Peng nodded. “Come to my quarters when you’re finished. I have something for you.” He rose from the table and gathered his papers and books, bowing slightly before he exited. “And bring your dagger.”
Ai Ling knocked, and Peng opened the door almost immediately. “Ah, good.” He waved a hand for her to pass, and she entered his cabin. It was three times bigger than the cabin she shared with Chen Yong, yet still not spacious. A large table strewn with maps dominated the room. Books, dozens of them, were stacked in wooden crates against the wall. She remained standing near the door, her hands clasped in front of her.
Peng nodded to his narrow cot. “I wanted to give you a small gift, for warning us of the pirates.”
A silk tunic was arranged on Peng’s berth. She ran her hand along the sleeve. It was a deep, rich purple, slippery and cool, with gold designs embroidered on the wide armbands. The silk shimmered like a jewel in the dim light.
“It’s lovely,” she murmured.
“I’m glad you’re
pleased with it.” Peng smiled. “We sell a lot of our silks in Jiang, and I often have a few sample outfits made to showcase the fabrics.”
He waved to a chair, indicating she should sit. Ai Ling lifted the tunic to her chest and pressed her cheek against the brocade, not caring how foolish she appeared. “My mother is wonderful with needle and thread. She would admire this tunic.”
Peng sat down, and she settled in a chair across from him. “And your mother let you run away to chase Chen Yong?”
She tucked her chin in surprise. “He’s a responsible brother,” she said, after too long a pause.
A smile played at the corners of Peng’s mouth. “Come, Ai Ling,” he said. “Chen Yong’s your brother like I am your brother.”
She bunched the tunic in her fist.
“It’s so painfully obvious, the way you moon after each other.” He chuckled.
“I…” She closed her mouth. “He…”
Peng tapped his leather boot against the floor and lifted a brow.
“Chen Yong does not moon after me,” she said finally, heat burning the tips of her ears.
“He never left your cabin once, the entire two days you were asleep.” Peng stretched his long legs in front of him. “We had to deliver his meals.”
Her heart expanded, filled. She hadn’t known.
He studied her openly. “I’ve heard of you.”
Ai Ling swallowed.
Peng smiled. “Yen and I traveled to the Palace of Fragrant Dreams half a year ago for trade. The gossip in Huang Long centered on the newlywed girl who had killed a much-despised adviser on his wedding night.”
She smoothed the tunic in her lap, her palms damp.
“Is it true?” Peng asked. “Did you kill Zhong Ye?”
“What does it matter?”
“You don’t seem the vindictive type. Not one to chase power and status. But you’re bold.”
Flustered and confused, she continued to focus on the beautiful tunic.
“Zhong Ye was powerful in the dark arts,” Peng said. “It would have had taken someone very strong to kill him.”
“What do you know of the dark arts?” she whispered.
He paused and raised a hand. “No. I never practiced. I studied the dark arts as one studies an enemy’s tactics. You cannot fight evil without understanding it.”
Ai Ling did not look at him. She shouldn’t have come to see Peng alone.
“For example, I can tell that your dagger is tainted.”
Why had she even brought her dagger on this trip? True, it was the only weapon she had, but she should have buried it long ago. Cast it into a fathomless lake.
“Do you have it?” Peng’s tone was gentle.
She unsheathed it and handed it to him without speaking. She didn’t understand why she felt she could trust him. She knew she could never undo what she had done. But perhaps it would help to tell someone, to share her story.
Peng held the dagger by its ivory hilt, the red jewels glinting even in the dim lantern light. “It’s been blessed.” His black eyes met hers. “Blessed specially for you.”
She nodded, thinking of Lao Pan.
“How did it become tainted?”
“I used it—I used it for the Calling Ritual.”
Peng sucked in his breath. “To remove a heart. Whose?”
“Li Rong’s. Chen Yong’s younger brother. He was—” She choked. “He was my friend.” She blinked back her tears.
“You’ve studied The Book of the Dead.” The teasing amusement had vanished from his voice, and the silence that followed stretched too long. “Do you practice it still?” he finally asked.
“No. I made a rash decision. The wrong choice. I shouldn’t have done it. I wasn’t thinking. I only wanted to bring him back. He shouldn’t have died.” She was babbling. “I burned his heart in the end.”
Peng was quiet, turning the dagger slowly in his hand. He met her gaze. “Good.”
“Chen Yong doesn’t know,” she whispered. “Please don’t tell him.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” He handed the exquisite weapon back, offering it by the hilt. “But it is one that will only fester.”
Ai Ling touched his spirit then and saw that he spoke truly. But what could she do? Chen Yong would never forgive her. “Can you clean the dagger?” she asked.
“No. You’ll never be able to restore the color of the blade.”
Somehow she already knew that deep down. “Thank you for the beautiful tunic, Peng. And for listening.” She felt limp when she rose, wrung dry.
“Of course,” he said, and opened the door for her.
She walked past him, the tunic draped over her arm.
“Ai Ling?”
She turned.
“I’m always here to help.” He inclined his head, his dark eyes serious. “You can trust me.”
Two weeks had passed since the pirate attack. They sailed across the Sea of Seven Stars, more vigilantly than before. Peng insisted on increased patrols and double shifts. Chen Yong kept his distance. It hurt Ai Ling more than she would admit, but she would not beg for his friendship.
One evening she strolled the perimeter of the deck to admire the moon—so brilliant it rendered the water into rippling beams. She let the wind fill her lungs, her ears. She had gazed at a full moon just like this one over the curving rooflines of the Emperor’s palace, excitement coursing through her. Wait for the extra moon then dark again. A riddle solved. She shook her head as if to rid herself of the memory that was hers but not hers. She didn’t sense Chen Yong’s presence until he was beside her. Her body tingled. And she hated herself for it.
“It’s a beautiful night,” he said.
She made no reply.
“How have you been?” His features were in shadow.
“You ask now?” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. She felt his regret, and she clutched her spirit tight.
“I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t expect to see you.” He leaned on the railing, cupping his chin. The gesture made him appear young. “Why did you never respond to my letters?” He met her eyes.
Chen Yong had written six letters to her while they were apart. She had replied to only one. “I did respond.”
The corner of his mouth slanted upward.
“It wasn’t easy to find someone traveling to Gao Tung to deliver them,” she hurriedly said. What could she possibly write to him? That she felt alone? How she isolated herself from others as her power grew? That she missed him more than she could say? “Is that why you’re angry with me? Because I didn’t reply to your letters?”
He laughed under his breath. “I’m not angry with you. Well, perhaps I was when you first appeared on board like a clever cat.” Chen Yong turned his gaze back toward the water. “It was a difficult choice to leave home to look for my birth father. My mother wasn’t pleased, especially after losing Li Rong.” He straightened. “In truth, I’m glad you’re here with me. Even if…” He shifted, his posture tense. “Ai Ling…”
The hesitancy in his voice caught her attention. He was nervous. She tilted her face toward his. His golden eyes slid away from hers before he spoke. “I’m betrothed.”
She was certain her heart stopped for a moment, and she dug her nails into her palms, tried to keep her features a smooth mask. “What?”
“My mother arranged it right before I left. I—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered, her entire being numb.
“I didn’t know how to.” He met her eyes then, and she was the one who looked away this time. “It’s not what I want. I should have said something sooner.”
Her lips trembled. She pressed them together hard before replying. “She’s right. It’s time for you to wed. Our first duty is—”
“To our parents,” he interrupted. “You’re repeating my own words to you. Don’t.” His tone was harsh, matching hers.
She wanted to run, to jump into the sea and swim into oblivion. Put an eternit
y of distance between them. She had no hold over Chen Yong. She’d never had. She pivoted away from the railing.
He grabbed her by the edge of her sleeve. His fingers brushed the back of her hand, trailed to her wrist. His touch was like sparks against her skin. “Please stay.”
She closed her eyes and tried to steady herself, too acutely aware of his rough palm encircling her wrist.
“Open your eyes, Ai Ling.” His voice was soft.
She did, and he let go of her.
The stars swathed the night in pinpricks of light, and they looked at the moon together in silence for some time. “Doesn’t this remind you of our chariot ride across the skies?” he finally asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. How could she distance herself from him when she was as drawn to him as the tide to the moon?
A few days later Ai Ling found Chen Yong peering over the side of the ship with Xiao Hou and Yam Head. The boys were standing on crates to afford a better view. Tien An, Xiao Hou’s father, was speaking animatedly, gesturing with his hands.
They had finished their Jiang lesson early that morning. She had spent the past hour sitting high at the stern of the ship, studying on her own. The day was cloudless, and no wind filled the sails. The Gliding Dragon drifted over still waters. Yam Head spied her first and grinned. Chen Yong followed his glance and smiled, cocking his head for her to join them.
She saw that they all held thin lines between their fingers.
“We’re fishing!” Xiao Hou exclaimed.
“Without rods?” she asked.
“None needed,” Tien An replied. “This is how we catch all the fish we eat. Coins to weigh down the line and scraps from the kitchen as bait. We wait for a calm day like this, when the ship is barely moving.”
“Want to try?” Chen Yong asked.
She nodded, and he carefully passed the line, then stood beside her.
“Always keep tension in the line,” Tien An said. “You never know when they’ll bite.”
“Have you fished before?” Ai Ling asked Chen Yong. He was dressed in a gray tunic with bronze embroidering along the collar, bringing out the color of his eyes.
