by Cindy Pon
She eased the shed door open. The morning air rejuvenated her as she scanned the horizon. The rays of the sun were just beginning to wash the skyline. She reeked of farm animals and damp hay. Ai Ling scratched her itching scalp and wished for a mirror, then decided it was probably better she didn’t have one.
She found a well on the other side of the shed and cranked up the heavy wooden pail with stiff arms. The water was biting and cold. She drank half a flask and refilled it. It was time to continue on her journey.
After she’d marched for two hours, the trees thinned, and she caught a glimpse of an expansive lake, a calming sight. The sky was cloudless. Birds swooped overhead, at times dropping like lightning into the water.
The lake’s surface was still. She walked to the shore, sat down with care on the dirt embankment, and removed her worn cloth shoes. Never before had she walked as much as she had in the past two days. She wiggled her toes, and then massaged the arch of one foot with her thumb.
Ai Ling relaxed, a small sigh escaping her lips. Her shoulders dropped as she pressed her chest against her knees. She dipped both feet into the water. The coolness felt delicious, and she reveled in it, her toes tingling.
She reached for her knapsack and pulled out a small cotton rag. She soaked the cloth in the lake, wrung it dry, and wiped across her brow and cheeks. Her mind drifted to home, a world away now. How was Mother coping? Would she be taking her midday meal?
The water rippled in front of her.
Something slithered and tugged on her right foot.
Startled, Ai Ling recoiled as the thing grabbed her other foot and pulled harder. The force of it slammed her flat on her back.
She flailed her arms but found only air as she was dragged into the water. She clawed the embankment. The loose dirt provided no hold, and with another tug, she was below the surface. Whatever gripped Ai Ling pulled her down through the murky depths fast.
She could do nothing but watch the sunlight on the lake’s surface grow dimmer. The last small breath she had drawn dwindled to nothing, even as she willed it to last. Fighting her terror, she looked down and saw dark, slithering shapes beneath her. Hundreds of shapes skulking below, tittering. She could hear them. That was the worst part. Worse than drowning.
Suddenly her descent ended, and she was left suspended upright in the dark depths. The pressure in her ears made her head throb. Her ribs felt crushed, her lungs compressed with the burning need for air. She struggled against drawing one breath, knowing there was nothing but fetid water if she did so.
The sinister thing writhed, like a massive eel, its body as thick as a man’s, its length endless. Luminous eyes, glowing emeralds, stared at her, unblinking. She thought it had a long snout, but she couldn’t be sure.
The creature’s tail curled up and around her until her entire body was captured in its sinewy lengths. Yet those eyes never moved, floating in the water a short distance away.
Ai Ling. Your family is in ruins because of you. Because of your selfishness. Your pride. Your stubbornness. Your mother has not stopped weeping since you left.
It spoke without speaking. She struggled against its powerful grip, but the effort was lost, as if she had never tried. Her lungs spasmed for breath. Water seeped through her vision, filled her nostrils, her head. She refused to succumb to the darkness, to the monster that clutched her.
But she must breathe.
Just as she was about to surrender, to draw a mouthful of water, Ai Ling felt a hotness below her throat. Her lungs filled with air. She looked down at the pendant, burning like a star.
Images emerged in the depths, clear and bright, one object at a time. She blinked, focused. First a four-legged washstand holding a white ceramic bowl, followed by a rectangular desk stacked with books. Then her bed on the raised carved platform. Ai Ling’s throat clenched at the sight of the familiar and beloved objects from her bedchamber.
Her mother appeared last. She was sitting on the bed, head bowed as she sobbed into her hands. She looked so small, frail, and dejected.
Tears escaped from Ai Ling’s own eyes, bled from her core. She tasted the salt of them in her throat, even as the pendant flared hot against her skin and replenished her with breath once more. She cried with her mother until the fathomless lake was filled with her tears.
You have left her with nothing but a broken heart. With a debt that cannot be paid. You could have married Master Huang to help your family. But instead you shirked your duty and ran away.
The voice was like glass shards coated in honey.
The slithering forms, all murmuring their disapproval in some ancient tongue, shifted in the abyss around her. But Ai Ling understood. Selfish. Ungrateful. Useless. She wanted to tear off her ears, gouge out her eyes, anything to stop the voices inside her head.
And your father. He loved you so well. A useless daughter. Your father said you were special. Your father lied. The last word seemed to snicker and shriek. It tore through her mind, reverberated in her skull, and echoed into infinity.
Her father appeared, wearing his favorite dark blue robes. He raised one hand toward his daughter, a look of love and concern on his face. Ai Ling wanted to speak, reach her hand to him.
Then the whites of his eyes began to move as hundreds of maggots squirmed, falling from empty sockets, until his entire body was a writhing mass. His skin peeled away to expose raw flesh, then decayed to mere bones. The skeleton dissolved to silver wisps of dust, streaked away before her horrified eyes.
Your father is dead. Go home.
Ai Ling bit her tongue so she would not scream. You lie, she shrieked in her mind. But part of her believed it.
Go away. Go back.
The muscular tail squeezed tighter, smothering the precious air she had been given. It crushed her until she was nothing. Nothing but darkness and hot salty tears.
Ai Ling felt someone tap her cheek. She opened her eyes and winced, her sight seared by the bright blue skies. A young man’s face appeared above hers.
“Are you all right?”
She gazed into his strange amber eyes—a color she had never seen. They were filled with concern.
No, she wanted to say, I’m not all right. My father is dead. I may as well be dead to my mother.
She wanted to curl up and cry. And sleep. Forever. She shivered, even as the strong afternoon sunlight warmed her wet clothes and damp skin.
“Get me away from here,” she whispered. It was all that she could muster.
Ai Ling felt herself gathered into strong arms as the stranger lifted her.
She leaned into him, trusting him completely in her grief and exhaustion. She shut her eyes and once more lost grasp of the world around her.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ai Ling awoke to the sound of twigs crackling on a fire. The orange glow licked beneath her closed lids. She didn’t want to open her eyes.
A shuffling noise to her left. Curiosity overrode fear. She peered from under lowered lashes and saw the young man kneel before the fire, stoking it with a stick. The fire fed and grew. Ai Ling basked in its warmth.
What had she said to him? Ai Ling couldn’t remember. She tilted her head, wanting to see his face. Her movement caught his attention, and their eyes met.
Strange amber eyes. She remembered now.
“You’re awake,” he said.
Ai Ling looked toward the fire. Dusk neared. She could tell by the light and the birds singing above them. Cheerful. Just as they had been before she was pulled into the lake. Had she dreamed it? She touched her still-damp clothes and didn’t answer him.
“I found you on the water’s edge,” he said. “You were half submerged. When I tried to pull you out—it was as if something was pulling you in.”
He stirred the fire again, and the flames leaped. His brow furrowed.
“The water was clear. Shallow. There was nothing at your feet. Yet I used all my strength to drag you out.” He sat down on the ground and rested his arms on raised knees.
He leaned forward and smiled at her. It altered the lines of his face. “She speaks.”
Ai Ling shifted with care and sat up, drew herself closer to the fire. She reached for the jade pendant without thinking. She squeezed it tight in her palm, remembering the breaths of life-saving air that had filled her lungs.
“You’re shivering. Do you have more clothes?”
She shrugged, caught off guard by his concern. Her hand found her worn knapsack, which she had been using as a pillow. Could she trust him?
“Yes,” she said.
“I’ll turn around.”
Ai Ling saw his back before he even finished the sentence. Under different circumstances, she would have sought privacy in the thickets, but she was in no mood to leave the safety of the fire as daylight ebbed. She pulled out a blue cotton tunic and trousers, sewn with care by her mother, then peeled the clothes from her body. Her gaze never strayed from the young man’s back as she changed. She laid her wet clothes down flat near the fire.
“I’m done,” she said.
He turned toward her, and she studied him. He had a high brow, tall nose, and a proud, serious face. His clothes were travel worn, but well made. She guessed him to be about eighteen or nineteen years. He had saved her life. Perhaps it would be safer to stay with him, at least through the night.
“I am called Ai Ling,” she said.
“I am Chen Yong.”
It was like a trick of the light, how his features appeared Xian from one angle, and then quite foreign with a half turn of his head. He wasn’t fully Xian, she realized with shock. The idea had never crossed her mind before. You were either Xian or not.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
She had not thought about it but heard her stomach growl at his question. She was starving.
“I bought some pork buns at the inn. They must be cold by now, but still tasty.”
Chen Yong passed two large buns to her. The breading was thick and a little sweet. The stuffing was savory, and the broth ran down her chin and fingertips.
“You’re hungry, then.” He smiled, stating the obvious.
Ai Ling nodded, abashed. The buns had disappeared like a conjurer’s trick.
“You travel alone?” he asked.
The skin on her arms prickled, reminding her how alone she truly was, how vulnerable. One glance at Chen Yong told her he didn’t realize the weight of his simple question. She looked away.
“I’m searching for my father.” Ai Ling felt her throat clench. She swallowed hard. “But…but I think he may be dead.” Sobs overcame her, even as she tried to suppress them. She wiped a hand across her face in frustration. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she had been carried like a babe in the arms of this stranger, now she’d become a blubbering fool before him.
“We travel for similar reasons,” he said, making no mention of her tears.
They didn’t speak again that night. Ai Ling laid her head back down on her knapsack and watched the dancing flames. Chen Yong’s profile, bent over a book, was the final image she carried with her into sleep.
Ai Ling’s eyes flew open, and she sat up, confused.
“Good morning,” Chen Yong said. He was sitting by the spot where the fire had been. All traces of it were gone, swept away. He held the same book in his hands. Had he even slept?
“I made some tea. It may be cold now.”
He poured from a small silver kettle. She nursed the cup in cold hands, turning it. It reflected a distorted image of her curious face across its smooth plane.
“It’s made of eng. From abroad. A gift from my father when he learned I was traveling.”
“It’s foreign? Is your father…?” she asked.
“No. My adoptive parents are Xian. I don’t know who my birth parents are.”
She sipped the lukewarm tea, not knowing what to say. It soothed her, and the fragrance of jasmine reminded her of home. She rummaged through her knapsack and fished out a small bundle wrapped in a deep purple handkerchief. She untied the twine with care, revealing a heap of walnuts.
“My mother cooked them in sugar.” She passed some to Chen Yong.
He popped one in his mouth. “Delicious. Walnuts are a rarity.”
“They were a special treat. For my birthday.” Had it really been less than a week ago?
“How many years?” Chen Yong crunched on another walnut.
She sipped her tea before replying. “Seventeen.”
“Seventeen years? And wandering on your own?” He raised his dark brows.
Ai Ling felt anger and guilt rise within her. “I am searching for my father. There’s no one else but me. My mother remains at home.”
“It’s dangerous for a girl to travel alone.” He studied her, not having to mention how he had found her.
“I do what I must. Just because most girls are sequestered within the inner quarters does not mean I have to be.” What was she saying? She had abided by the rules like every other girl until two days ago, when she’d decided to leave home. But Chen Yong’s admonishing tone irked her.
“You speak as if I made the rules of decorum,” he said, and did not reach for another walnut, as she clutched the bundle to herself now.
“No, you didn’t make the rules. But I would wager a silver coin that you think a girl’s place is sweeping the front courtyard and spoon-feeding her husband dinner broth each evening.” She glared at Chen Yong, not caring that she spoke so forwardly.
His eyes widened, and then crinkled with a wry smile. “I admit that doesn’t sound so bad right now.”
Somehow his confession didn’t feel like a victory.
“Are you not betrothed?” She couldn’t stop herself. Anything to provoke a reaction.
The humor was wiped from his face. “No.”
She allowed herself a small sense of triumph. It was short-lived.
“Are you?” he asked.
Chen Yong waited, vexing her with his deliberate silence. “I ran away to avoid a betrothal,” she said after a few moments. There was nothing to hide. She had made the right decision.
Chen Yong paused for a moment before speaking, the surprise obvious on his face. “Our first duty is to our parents.” His words brought back the hissed accusations from the dark abyss: selfish, ungrateful, useless daughter. She blinked, unwilling to shed more tears in front of him.
“My father would not have wanted it. Nor my mother.” She stood, pulled the knapsack over her shoulder. Chen Yong rose with agility. He stood a hand taller than she.
“I should go,” Ai Ling said. She owed him thanks. He had saved her life, after all.
He remained silent, looking down at her, his face never betraying his thoughts. His golden eyes were tinged with green. She dropped her gaze, hating herself for noticing.
What was he thinking? Without conscious effort, she cast herself toward him, threw an invisible cord from her spirit to his. She felt it waver like a drunken serpent, fumble, and then latch. The sudden pulling and tautness within her navel surprised her.
She remembered watching her father fish once. He’d offered her the bamboo rod when a fish took the bait, tugging so hard against the line she was afraid the rod would break. It felt like that.
She felt an irresistible draw toward her hooked target, followed by a strange snap sensation. She was within Chen Yong’s being.
Ai Ling noticed his higher vantage point immediately. She had always been told she was tall for a girl, but she didn’t look so from his eyes. His body was more rested than hers. There were no knots of anxiety in his shoulders; no soreness in his neck. A power and strength unfamiliar to her coursed through his limbs, a litheness coiled within him.
She stared at herself. She stood in a stance of defiance, arms folded across her chest. Did she always look so childish, so stubborn?
Was that Chen Yong’s thought or her own? She quieted her spirit, eavesdropped within his mind.
Feisty. She plucked the one word that flitted to her from his thoughts. It emerged with a sense of amusement and surprised admiration. Suddenly she felt ashamed that she was intruding. She was curious, but it felt wrong. She drew herself back reluctantly, felt the snap as she returned to her own being.
The world tilted for a brief moment, and she tried to cover her unsteadiness by fussing with her knapsack. She blinked away the black spots that floated across her vision. What was happening to her? Had he felt her trespass? She glanced up at him. His expression had not changed. She straightened.
“I can never repay your kindness. Thank you.” She spoke from the heart. He deserved that much.
“And to you, Ai Ling. Take good care.”
She blushed, turned so he would not see, and walked away. She looked back once, to find him still standing in the same spot, and waved. He lifted one hand in farewell. Ai Ling hoped he would follow. She quickly cast the thought aside as if the desire had never existed.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was midday. Ai Ling wiped the sweat from her brow and touched the top of her head. Her hair felt on fire.
Two boys squatted in the middle of the road. A tan mongrel wagged its tail beside them. They clutched red firecrackers, heads bent together, and whispered in conspiratorial tones.
Her stomach growled, reminding her that she had not eaten anything since the walnuts at daybreak. She took two final swallows of water from her flask, savoring the last drops.
The bang of firecrackers startled her. Ai Ling looked back. The two boys scurried toward her with the dog in tow, their mouths wide in surprised fright.
“Wah! I didn’t know it’d be so loud. It nearly took my fingers off!” the taller one shouted.
“You said you knew what you were doing!” His friend hopped angrily from one foot to the other.
“You made me do it.” The lanky boy looked somewhat apologetic and tugged on his queue.
“I almost lost my nose!”
The acrid smoke from the firecrackers dissipated while the two argued. Ai Ling turned and walked back toward them.
