Oracle Bone

by Lydia Kwa

  Xie pulled out a vial from the pouch hanging at his belt. The yellow cork was sealed with red wax. “For you. You know you like this. I always have your best interests at heart.”

  Wu Zhao smiled, her anger receding. His potions were indeed marvellous—they gave her an inordinate amount of energy and mental clarity.

  “And this—” Xie brought out another vial, distinguished by its black coloured cork. “It will reverse some of those incapacitating symptoms so that His Majesty recovers slightly, at least enough to assist us when we need him.”

  Wu Zhao was pleased. Xie’s gifts would advance her ambitions. He was immensely useful to her, despite his occasional foray into mysterious, vague pronouncements.

  “When are you coming to see me again?”

  Xie smiled slyly at her. “Tomorrow night,” he whispered, moving a fraction closer to her.

  She could feel the heat of his body. It is a curious thing, she thought, how his body can radiate a heat even greater than that from the braziers. She looked into his eyes and felt herself pulled into his gaze. It was more discomforting than seductive. This wasn’t lust, yet it transfixed her. She couldn’t understand it. There was nothing ordinary about this man. It troubled her slightly that she had become even more enchanted.

  Dahan

  Jieqi, Great Cold,

  Middle of Twelfth Lunar Month

  DA FA TEMPLE, WEST CENTRAL CHANG’AN

  Are you ready?”

  Ling nodded. She had no doubt that she was ready.

  They left Da Fa Temple on two horses and rode out of Chang’an in the late afternoon. Their faces were covered, thick scarves wrapped around their heads. At the speed they travelled, they felt the icy air gnaw at the exposed parts of their faces, especially around the eyes.

  At least the road was clear, with a compacted layer of snow over the rough ground, but it wasn’t slippery. They rode without stopping, entering Huazhou just as the sun was close to disappearing behind the horizon, and made their way to Idle Tea inn.

  “You must know,” insisted Qilan, cornering Dried Reed in the kitchen area while his assistant tended to a room full of customers. She looked sternly at the old man who averted his eyes from the cloth with the drawing of a tattoo.

  The innkeeper pursed his lips and shook his head. Ling noticed that his hair had definitely thinned since the last visit, and the skin under his neck was looking decidedly more wrinkled. Less deference too, noted Ling, compared to last time when he couldn’t stop fawning over Qilan.

  “Everyone who doesn’t want to be noticed comes to your inn for food and drink and rest. This man ambushed Ling’s parents’ barge and killed them nearby, at the canals. It was in the summer, nearly three-and-a-half years ago. Now I’m repeating myself, aren’t I?”

  “Why didn’t you ask me then?”

  “Wasn’t necessary at that time.”

  Dried Reed pursed his lips even more tightly.

  Qilan pressed on. “You must remember what terrible shape she was in—couldn’t even manage a cup of tea. She wasn’t strong enough to match Shan Hu then. You see how different she is now.”

  “This young woman is now going to seek out Shan Hu and fight him?” Dried Reed gasped.

  “We are not joking,” replied Ling who glared at the innkeeper in anger.

  Dried Reed leaned very close to Qilan and whispered, “What do you think this is going to do to me if the wrong people found out that I talked?”

  Qilan whispered back, “Who’s listening?”

  Dried Reed threw a quick glance at the dining area before he continued, still in a whisper, “There are spies everywhere. The lout runs a large gang controlling the area. All I’m willing to say—head toward the market, and look for the symbol hidden between two bamboo posts.” He nodded nervously, and flinging the mangy table rag over his left shoulder, scampered out to the dining area.

  Qilan and Ling headed in the direction of the market, walking side by side. The shops were brightly lit from large outdoor lanterns. The shoppers’ and stall keepers’ breaths floated like dragon trails in the air as bargains were struck. The crunching sounds of boots on snow swirled around them, a chorus of varying rhythms. Both women were dressed in thick quilted robes, their heads and faces covered, so it would have been easy for others to mistake them for men.

  “How on earth are we going to find that symbol if it’s hidden?” mumbled Ling.

  Still looking ahead, Qilan asked Ling, “Tell me—do you really want him dead?”

  “I’ve been waiting all these years, training hard. Without a doubt, I want him to pay for my parents’ deaths!”

  Qilan stopped walking and turned to grasp Ling by the shoulders. Her gaze burned into Ling. “Then show him no mercy!”

  “I … uh …”

  “I’m sure you can do it,” answered Qilan decisively as they resumed their walk down the street toward the market.

  Snow began to fall more heavily. They found themselves wandering the alleys, listening and watching. It was Ling who spotted the sign. Just as Dried Reed had said, it was between two bamboo poles, a startlingly bright orange banner with the image of a tiger in the mountain. She touched Qilan on the arm and nodded in the direction of the sign.

  Qilan entered the narrow alley next to the sign. Ling followed, walking behind her. At the end of the alley was an establishment that announced its business with a suggestive line drawing of a naked woman standing atop a male body, face down. Qilan exclaimed, “It looks like some kind of a massage parlour. Perfect place to get answers.”

  They stamped the snow off their boots and walked in. Off to the left was a waiting area, dimly lit. They saw a wisp of a man picking his nose at the front counter. The women brushed past him and headed down the hallway to the inner courtyard.

  “Wait a minute! You can’t go in there,” shouted the man, but they kept walking. They crossed the inner courtyard, leaving imprints of their boots across the snow as they strode toward the heart of the main building. Qilan sniffed at the air before choosing to open the sliding doors of one of the rooms.

  The room was suffused with a heady fragrance, musky and sickly sweet all at once. Two flickering candles burned in one corner. A man lay on a long, raised wooden table. A woman walked on his buttocks, which were covered by a cloth; another woman assiduously kneaded his shoulders. It was warm inside, heated by two sizeable coal braziers.

  “Enjoying the massage?”

  “What …?” The man raised his head slightly off the table and looked dazedly at Qilan.

  “I have a message to pass on to Shan Hu. Tell him we’re looking for him!”

  The man pushed the woman off his back and scrambled off the table, holding on to the cloth covering his sensitive parts. “Just who do you think you are? How dare you barge in and ask for the Boss?”

  “I can ask, can’t I?” retorted Qilan.

  “Just what kind of a whore are you? That dark face of yours …” The man sneered at Qilan, staring her up and down.

  Ling fidgeted and lifted her fists up to her chest. She wanted to punch the man for insulting Qilan, but the nun placed a restraining hand on her shoulder.

  The man dropped the cloth and took advantage of that moment to lunge at Qilan, clamping his huge right hand around her throat. He raised his left fist, ready to punch her face.

  Suddenly, the man’s eyes widened in shock. Steam rose from his fingers and he yelped as he pulled his hand away from Qilan’s neck. He stumbled backwards and smashed against the wall. The women screamed. He looked down at his hand; the tips of his fingers were all burnt black. More out of fear than modesty, he covered his privates with his other hand.

  “Your boss murdered this girl’s parents. It’s time for her to seek him out and kill him!”

  “Crazy bitches!” the man howled.

  “I’m not crazed or bitching. You be careful with that dirty mouth of yours.” Qilan’s eyes flared up, lit by the candlelight. She growled and bared her teeth at him. “Just pass the mes
sage on. We’ll be waiting at the Prosperity Tavern. He’d better show up there tonight. Or else rumours will fly that he’s a coward who doesn’t dare to face a nun and a young woman.”

  At the market, Qilan and Ling bought a small bamboo funnel of piping-hot roasted horse chestnuts and ate them as they made their way toward Prosperity Tavern.

  Ling paused in the square, remembering the auction three-and-a-half years ago. It had been in the heat of summer, and the stench of greed soaked the air. She wasn’t sure whom she was more afraid of now—Shan Hu or herself. Deep inside her, there still existed the tremor of that frightened, angry child she had been. But she was strong now. She made up her mind: She wasn’t going to use any spells or magic but would rely on her wits and skills to fight Shan Hu. Ling shifted her weight left to right and back. She savoured the taste of chestnuts in her mouth, then took a few gulps of water from the gourd she carried on her belt. The water was cold, and it made her shiver.

  Only steps away, ostentatious red lanterns bedecked the eaves of Prosperity Tavern, their candlelight flickering in the light breeze. It had stopped snowing. Overhead there was a half moon, and Venus hung close to it.

  Qilan studied Ling’s face. Sometimes, words were unnecessary; they simply understood each other implicitly. Qilan tilted her head in the direction of the tavern. “Let’s have a proper meal before the scoundrel arrives.”

  The inn was impressively large and spacious, its three floors festooned with large red lanterns that hung from the eaves at every corner of the hexagonal space. All the windows were covered in yellow silk, reducing the draughts, and the coal braziers kept the place nicely heated. Customers were rowdily enjoying themselves, toasting one another, playing drinking games. The fragrance of various delectable foods wafted in the air, making Qilan’s nose start to twitch with anticipation as she strode up the stairs to the top floor.

  In contrast to the lower two floors, the dining area on the third floor was small and had only seven tables instead of thirty. Two of those were taken by customers; three at one and two at another. The tables were placed away from the staircase at the back of the room, and there was a door in one corner. Private rooms, thought Ling.

  Qilan picked a table near the window. They took off their robes, hats, and scarves, and warmed themselves at the closest brazier. When the spritely, fresh-faced waiter arrived at their table, they could see he was unable to hide his surprise. He gawked at Qilan’s elaborate hairstyle, so unlike that of peasant women yet not the style worn by a woman of the upper class. He eyed her up and down, took in the ordinary riding clothes, the exquisite glow of her dark-brown skin, the large eyes that were slightly drawn up at the edges.

  Qilan ordered a flask of hot wine, chicken in hot sesame oil sauce, and eggs fried with preserved mustard roots. “Bring three cups for the wine,” she instructed the waiter.

  The food came quickly and they set to eating and drinking.

  “Drink up,” Qilan encouraged Ling.

  The two customers at the next table pulled out musical instruments and started to play. Ling guessed they were in their middle years, husband and wife or maybe brother and sister. The woman played the erhu and the man the dizi.

  Ling smiled wistfully. Old Chen would have enjoyed hearing this music. It made her think of the beautiful scenery of her childhood, the slopes on which the tea plants grew, and the rivers that wound their way through the region.

  Qilan filled Ling’s cup as soon as she had emptied it. Ling drank three small cups in quick succession. She felt the warmth of the wine suffuse and relax her whole body. Her reverie was interrupted by loud shouts from downstairs.

  “Where are those filthy chickens?”

  Ling shuddered. She could never forget that voice.

  When Shan Hu reached the top floor, the three men at one table hurried away to the floor below, leaving only the musicians who seemed utterly unperturbed by the sight of the burly man; they continued to play.

  Shan Hu sported a scabbard with a long sword slung across his back. He shouted down to the waiter, “Send up an order of pickled pig trotters! A large flask of wine. I’m going to be starving after I slaughter these two.”

  He took off his outer coat of heavy hide and his fur hat and flung them down on the table, narrowly missing the flask of wine.

  “Started drinking without waiting for me?” He leered at Ling. “You! With the two different eyes. I remember you now. How dare you return?”

  Against her will, Ling felt her legs start to shake and a thin film of sweat form at the back of her neck. She clutched the edges of the table. A low rumble of heat rose up from her belly to her face. She glared back at him, wild with desire to pounce at him. But she knew she had to hold back, had to wait for the right moment.

  Shan Hu turned to look at Qilan who sat to the side, on his left. He recognized the pendant she wore. “The nun! First you purchase her, then you bring her back to me. What a pair you are!” His laughter echoed through the space, a grating contrast to the delicate music.

  “Been attacking more innocent folks and killing them?” Qilan asked with a grin on her face.

  “Your fucking Reverence. Why have you returned to Huazhou looking for me?”

  “Don’t ask me, I’m just accompanying my friend here,” replied Qilan.

  Ling’s voice vibrated with restrained anger. “You are scum. Disgusting vermin. You deserve to die. So that others will no longer be terrorized.”

  Shan Hu ignored Ling, but continued to address Qilan. “How dare you bully my hireling at the massage parlour?”

  “Because he is a worthless turd,” Ling answered, her voice a barely audible growl.

  Shan Hu eyed Ling again. “Why, you’ve certainly grown up, haven’t you?” He eyed her breasts lasciviously.

  Ling nodded, burping loudly once. “You noticed? So come on, have a drink on me before I slash your throat from ear to ear.” She poured wine into the third cup and pushed it toward him. Shan Hu eyed the cup with suspicion.

  “Don’t you worry, I don’t want to poison you. That would be too easy a death for you. Besides, I don’t want to miss out on the pleasure of tormenting you.”

  Shan Hu surveyed the spread of food in front of him. He raised his right leg on the spare stool, leaned forward, and scooped up the third cup with his huge hand. He sniffed at the wine, then downed it and flung the cup at the floor, smashing it to pieces. “A mere mite on a buffalo’s ass! You don’t even have a weapon on you, so who are you kidding?”

  Shan Hu moved back slightly to have more room. With his right hand, he reached over his left shoulder and withdrew his sword, which made a clear, swishing sound as it materialized from the scabbard. The blade was a beautiful beast, slim, well-fashioned, with a handle that was inlaid tastefully with three jade stones. He relished the thought that he would soon be slicing Ling up into chunks. The musicians stopped playing. No one moved.

  “Maybe I should have a bit of fun with both of you before I waste you.” He smirked suggestively. “You know, it’s hard being a bandit. The more I pillage, the hornier I feel.” With both hands on the handle, Shan Hu tilted the sword up and contemplated his strategy. Nobody at the inn would dare get in his way if he hauled these two off to a room behind that door.

  He stared at Ling. She sat utterly still. Wasn’t she afraid of him? He recalled the night when he’d ambushed the barge. She’d been terrified then; how she’d shivered with fear. Was this really the same girl?

  He was about to make a straight thrust at her, aiming to mark the side of her face—just to scare her—when he was caught off guard as Ling headed straight for the sword for a brief moment before stepping off his direct line of attack. She ended up within a hair’s breadth of his right ear and spewed out a sharp spray of hot wine at his face.

  Shan Hu yelled as his eyes were stung by the hot wine. His left hand shot up to his eyes, and before he could regain his composure, Ling tucked her left arm very close to his armpit where she jabbed him once with pointed f
ingers. While gripping his right wrist with her right hand, she extended her left arm toward his neck, and dug her fingers into his throat. He yelped in pain.

  Ling stretched out Shan Hu’s right arm farther, pulling him forward until the sword clattered onto the table. She forced the back of his hand against the table. The sword trembled as she applied pressure to the back of his wrist, using her thumb and little finger to press on sensitive points.

  Shan Hu howled and let go of the sword.

  Qilan turned to the musicians and said, “How about some kind of ambush song?”

  The erhu player whispered into her companion’s ear. They launched into their performance. The bright, rhythmic notes imitated the charge of horses rampaging along a wide, expansive landscape.

  Qilan approved and tapped her fingers on the table, keeping time.

  Shan Hu’s nostrils flared. He closed his left hand into a fist and swung it at Ling’s head, but she managed to block it. He hit out with his right hand and struck her on the mouth then on the left side of her body. She staggered back and wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve. Splotches of blood. The pain along her left side was sharp and shot down to her leg.

  She crouched low, closed her hands into fists, and moved in close to him as she brought her arms up in arcs, hitting the sides of Shan Hu’s head. She struck his ears with her fists then pummelled him vigorously on his chest and sides, followed by one side-swipe at his nose. She moved so fast that he had no chance to retaliate. He sputtered and gasped, staggering back. She stayed close to him, preventing him from being able to hit her. She ducked under his right arm and, forming the fingers of her left hand into a point, struck at the centre of his chest with the back of that hook. With an enormous amount of qi, she slammed both palms against his chest. The force of that energy travelled through him like a thunderbolt. As his head snapped back, Ling kneed him in the crotch. He buckled down and groaned, then reached out to grab her legs.

  “Watch out!” shouted the erhu player, who intervened by smacking Shan Hu on the back of his neck with her fiddle.

  He turned around and was about to grab the fiddle when he felt a series of stinging pains all across his back. When he turned around to face Ling, he saw that she had his sword in both her hands, the blade held horizontally at eye level, her legs in a wide stance. She angled her body and went at him. She wielded the sword with such skill that Shan Hu ended up with six bloodied diagonal slashes, three crosses down the front of his torso, just deep enough to slash his shirt.