by Cindy Pon
Fei Ming raised himself for one brief moment. She gasped for breath, horrified. She tried to push herself off the ground; in an instant, he was gone. The jade pendant blazed hot against her chest.
Seconds later, there was a heavy thud and the creaking of tired wood boards. Confused and filled with fear, she rolled onto her side to find Fei Ming slumped on the ground, his chin on his chest and his lower half exposed. An aura of white sparks enveloped him.
Before she could look away, he flew into the air and slammed with a sickening crack against the ceiling. Pinned there, the glow that shrouded him cast leaping shadows across the derelict temple. Her pendant flickered brightly. She was doing this. And she didn’t know how to control it.
Fei Ming crashed to the ground. Blood dripped from his nose, then dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
“No,” Ai Ling whispered.
A green mist began to coalesce, rising from Fei Ming until it took on the shape of something monstrous, twice taller than any man. Its head was huge, its face as flattened as an angry bull’s, the lower incisors jutting out. Red streaked across its features, reminding her of the opera masks that had scared her as a girl. Frost plumed from the flared nostrils. It lunged toward Ai Ling in one stride, its green eyes ablaze.
The demon moved into her. Consumed her. It caught her breath and heartbeat, plunged her in ice. A chaos of screeching overwhelmed her mind. The demon’s spirit pulsated within her, attempted to expand like an ink spill in her mind. Horrified and sickened, Ai Ling resisted. She closed herself to the evil, folding her spirit into a slippery wisp. The demon shrieked and slashed through her being.
Then it was gone. Her head felt split open. A stench like burned hair hung in the air, and her ears were ringing. She gulped for breath. Her heart thudded against her chest like a fist.
With great effort, she lifted her head and saw Fei Ming sprawled on the floor by the wall, his bloody face turned toward her. He was alive, but struggling. A gurgling sound escaped from his throat with each ragged breath.
The rope fell from her wrists, untwining like a snake in the air. Ai Ling tried to stand but pitched forward instead. And the world collapsed to pinpricks of light until her vision failed her entirely.
Ai Ling groaned when she woke. Unable to focus, she blinked several times, feeling the ache and tremble of her body. Bright sunshine filtered through the windows of the abandoned temple.
She rose to her feet with effort, stumbling once and scraping the heel of her hand on the rough floor. Wincing, she slowly walked over to Fei Ming, who had not moved. Dry blood crusted his nose and mouth. His eyes were half closed, his pallor like the naked skin of poultry offered at the butcher’s, but he was still breathing.
She kneeled on bruised knees, pulled down his black tunic with a quivering hand to cover him. Her breath came in short gasps, and her stomach lurched. She grabbed her pendant, drawing comfort from the grooves etched in the stone. Fei Ming terrified her, even though he must have been possessed.
She laid a light hand on him. She hesitated, her trembling fingers trailing from his slack arm to his barely rising-and-falling chest. Ai Ling did not know what she searched for, allowing instinct to guide her. She stopped as her palm hovered over his heart. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, tangled black hair fanning across her face. She waited.
There was nothing at first. Just the sunlight behind her eyelids and the feel of the man’s silk tunic beneath her fingers. She cast her spirit toward his, a weak, wobbling cord. It dissipated without reaching its target. She drew a deep breath and tried again. Her navel tightened as her spirit entered Fei Ming’s.
She delved into his body, and his pain slammed her. Struggling to breathe. Struggling to live. A part of him wanted to give up; give in to the darkness. Ai Ling unfurled her mind to him. She searched for his being.
It cowered, as if shoved into a corner. Fei Ming was aware he had been possessed. He had watched everything, a prisoner in his own mind and body. His spirit was traumatized, damaged, and afraid. Yet he still fought for each breath that seared his lungs. His heart fluttered, tapping out a faint and erratic beat.
Ai Ling willed her own spirit over his wounds, glided across broken ribs, the cracked collarbone, and the punctured lung. She knew nothing. She’d never studied anatomy or medicine, but she went where she felt his pain. She wrapped his injuries within her healing essence, coated and covered them until she felt his heart beating with a strong, regular rhythm. Until he took a deep breath without wincing, even as he lay unconscious, crouched inside his own mind.
Suddenly Ai Ling was aware of hurried footsteps. The sound came to her as if through a deep tunnel. She withdrew from Fei Ming’s body, snapped into herself, and turned her head sluggishly. Master Tan approached like thunder, followed by Chen Yong and two manservants. He ran to his injured son and kneeled down beside him. Fei Ming remained unconscious but stirred and groaned.
Chen Yong dropped by her side, his dark brows drawn together. “Ai Ling, are you all right?”
“What happened here?” Master Tan demanded.
Ai Ling clutched at her torn clothing, feeling weak, depleted. Chen Yong cradled her elbow, as if afraid she would fall over otherwise.
What was there to say, except the truth?
“He laced my tea with poison. I woke and found myself here.” Her voice, unfamiliar to her own ears, croaked with thirst.
“What?” Master Tan shook with fury. “Beware of your accusations, Ai Ling. I know my son.”
“He—he was possessed,” she whispered.
Master Tan’s expression hardened, the color draining from his face. He pounded closed fists together and spat at the ground before her.
“Witch! Sorceress! How dare you come into my home and bring such evil on us?”
“There must be a misunderstanding,” Chen Yong said. “We should send for the physician. Fei Ming can tell us what happened when he recovers.” There was a strain in his steady voice she hadn’t heard before. What did he think? Who would he believe?
Ai Ling lowered her head. It was her fault that Fei Ming was in this condition. Was it her fault as well that he had been possessed?
Master Tan gingerly touched his son’s cheek. “Quickly! Bring the litter and fetch Physician Shen. Go!”
The two manservants rushed off without a word, panic on their faces.
“Leave, before I fetch the magistrate.” Master Tan waved one arm at her and Chen Yong, his wrath unable to hide the tears of concern for his son. “I don’t ever want to see your faces again. Go!”
Ai Ling met Chen Yong’s eyes for the first time. They were unreadable, his face taut and without expression. “I’ll get our things,” he said quietly, and he turned to go.
Ai Ling scrambled to her feet to follow. Her chest ached until it felt numb—like the rest of her.
Chen Yong walked with long strides, his posture stiff. “What happened?” he asked without looking back at her.
“It’s as I said. Fei Ming poisoned my tea. I woke in the temple.” She propelled herself forward so her legs would not buckle beneath her. “He was possessed.” It was difficult to talk and half run, to keep her gaze on Chen Yong’s rigid shoulders.
“Why is he unconscious?” he asked, again without turning. She felt like a rejected pet, scurrying after her master. Pride and anger would have surfaced under normal circumstances, but Ai Ling had no energy for such emotions.
She walked more than a few strides in silence.
“I think I did it,” she finally said.
Chen Yong halted and turned to her, his features hard, his eyes dark like a stranger’s. “You mean you don’t know? Were you possessed as well?”
“No. I don’t believe so.”
“He was going to give me my father’s letters. Now I can never speak with Master Tan again—the only man who knew him.”
Tears welled in Ai Ling’s eyes.
“I can try and speak to him.” She stared down at her exposed legs, her tro
users in tatters.
Chen Yong shook his head, his mouth pressed in a hard line.
They arrived at the Tan manor just as three servants rushed out the main gate with a litter.
“Go get your things. Hurry,” Chen Yong said as he turned away from her.
Ai Ling entered the bedchamber she’d slept in the previous night. The bed was made and the silk drapes drawn back. She braided her hair with trembling fingers, picked up her knapsack and hurried back to the front gate. Chen Yong was waiting for her.
“Where to now?” she asked.
“The nearest inn.”
They returned to an inn they’d passed twice while looping back and forth in search of the Tan manor the previous day. The building stood tall and narrow, with wide windows on each floor and a sloping red-tiled roof. Chen Yong swept aside the dark blue cloth covering the doorway, and she followed him.
The bottom floor was a tavern. Small and intimate, the room consisted of a few bamboo tables and chairs, the far side dominated by a long bar. The barkeep flicked a look toward his new patrons. His head was completely shaved except for a thick topknot of three braids that fell past his shoulders.
Chen Yong strode toward the barkeep, undeterred by the man’s scowl. “Where is the proprietor? We need a room.”
“Do you now?” He cast a knowing glance from Chen Yong to Ai Ling. “I don’t think you’ll get much wear out of her, sir.” The man snorted, his stare meandering from her tattered tunic to the ripped trousers.
“What’re you doing? Why are we here?” She colored at the barkeep’s innuendo but lifted her chin despite her embarrassment.
The barkeep propped both elbows on the bar, listening intently.
“You need to clean up and rest,” Chen Yong said. It sounded more like a command than a concerned suggestion.
“We should go.” She did need rest, but she didn’t want to take it here.
“I’ll leave. You can stay,” he said.
Ai Ling felt the blood drain from her face. “What do you mean?”
“It was a mistake to ask you to accompany me to Master Tan’s. We should go our separate ways.” He spoke without looking at her.
The numbness remained. Good. She willed her features to stay composed.
“Get her a room.” Chen Yong threw two gold coins on the bamboo counter. They clinked and rolled in opposite directions before the barkeep’s large palms stopped them both.
“Oh. She’ll get the best in the house at that price,” the barkeep said, grinning widely at them.
“I don’t need your alms,” Ai Ling said, her heart thudding in her ears.
Chen Yong turned without saying another word. He shoved the dark blue cloth aside and vanished.
He meant nothing to her. A stranger she’d barely known for one day. And obviously she meant nothing to him.
“How long can I stay with that much?” Ai Ling nodded at the two gold coins.
The barkeep rubbed his hands together. “At least a week, miss. In our best room.”
Ai Ling plucked one coin from the counter. “I won’t be staying that long. Have someone draw me a hot bath. The hotter the better.”
The man opened his mouth to argue, but her hard-edged glare stopped him short.
“Right. I’ll get someone to do that. And show you to your room.”
A boy not older than ten years ran into the tavern after the barkeep hollered his name twice. “Bao Er, show the miss to our best room. And tell the kitchen to start a hot bath.”
“A bath!” The boy’s head bobbed with excitement. Baths were rare, it appeared.
“You heard me.”
“Yes, sir! This way, miss.”
Ai Ling walked behind Bao Er, following him up steep wooden steps to the second floor, then up another flight to the top floor. She pressed her hands against the uneven walls of the staircase, feeling the onslaught of wooziness and exhaustion she had suppressed earlier. The boy skipped down the hallway, scratching the top of his head, his queue wagging like a donkey’s tail behind him. He stopped at a wide door at the end of the cramped passage. He flung it open with a flourish. “Our best room, miss.”
Ai Ling entered with caution. The best room was big enough to hold a narrow bed pushed against the wall, a black wooden table set under a window, a washstand, and a chipped cobalt basin. She ran a finger along the window ledge. It came away clean. The window offered a view of the alley below, as well as a skyline of colorful tiled roofs with expansive blue skies above them.
“Thank you, Bao Er.” Ai Ling gave the boy a small copper coin. He broke into a toothy grin.
“Thanks! I’ll go tell them about your bath.”
Bao Er tore from her room as if his queue was on fire. She put her knapsack down and sank into the thick blankets on the bed, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her brow on them.
Ai Ling drew a shaky breath, and the room tilted. She staggered to the washbasin and heaved, bringing up bile that burned her throat. Tears mingled with mucus as she retched until her stomach cramped and nothing was left in her. She wiped the back of her hand over her wet face and mouth and dragged it across her torn trousers.
She crawled back onto the bed, laid down her head, and curled up. She wished Taro was there to snuggle against. She wished her mother was there to smooth her hair and smile reassuringly, as she always did. But she had none of that now. She was all alone once more.
Ai Ling was awakened by a gentle shaking. “Miss. Miss.”
She opened her eyes to find Bao Er’s face peering down at her. “Miss, there’s someone here to see you. A gentleman.” Ai Ling’s mind quickly flew to Chen Yong.
“Thank you, Bao Er. I’ll be right out.”
She knew she looked wretched, even without a glance in the tarnished round mirror on the wall. She pulled on a faded pink tunic and trousers. She examined the torn clothing; it wasn’t worth mending. She could keep it for spare materials.
On a sudden whim, she climbed onto the wooden table and pulled the lattice panels back. The sun hung directly above her. She stuck out her head and looked below. The alleyway was empty. She bundled the torn clothes into a ball and threw them out the window.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ai Ling climbed down the narrow stairs. She found Bao Er in the tavern standing beside a young man who looked familiar. She didn’t truly believe Chen Yong would return, yet she hadn’t expected a strange male caller, either. He was dressed in a black silk robe. Three silver pearls served as buttons on the stiff collar. Bao Er stared at him, his head tilted, reminding her of sparrows she had sketched.
“Mistress Wen?”
Ai Ling nodded, completely taken off guard.
“I’m Tan Hai Ou. I have a letter for you from my father.”
Her pulse quickened. “Is Fei Ming all right?”
“My older brother is doing well.” He pulled a scroll from his robe sleeve and began to unfurl it.
“I can read it.”
Hai Ou masked his surprise in an instant and proffered the scroll.
The message was short.
Fei Ming insists that I apologize for my harsh words. He tells me you saved his life. Please come by at your earliest convenience.
The letter was signed by Master Tan with his stamp in red below it. She rolled up the scroll.
“Please tell your father I’ll come today.”
Hai Ou bowed and stepped out of the inn. Bao Er had listened to the entire exchange with interest.
“Master Tan has the grandest manor in the city, miss. I hear he has a fish pond with fish this big!” The boy threw his arms out wide.
Ai Ling laughed. “I’ll ask to see it this time and let you know.”
Bao Er beamed up at her. “Do you still want that hot bath you asked for two days ago, miss?”
“Two days ago?” she said, confused.
“You slept through the afternoon and all yesterday. I kept looking in because your bathwater was getting cold.” Bao Er shifted from one foot to the o
ther. “Auntie said I better wake you when the master came ’cause it might be important. Also to make sure you weren’t dead.” The boy nodded in earnest.
She’d slept two days away?
“A hot bath would be wonderful. But first, what’s good to eat from the kitchen?”
Bao Er’s face lit up like a festival lantern. “Oh, the braised pork with rice is my favorite. With a tea-stewed egg.”
He dashed back to the kitchen, and Ai Ling settled down at a small bamboo table in anticipation of a much-needed hot meal.
Refreshed from the hot bath and home-cooked meal, Ai Ling stepped out onto the street with renewed energy. It felt strange not to have Chen Yong by her side. She pushed the thought away, chided herself for being so easily dependent. She never truly knew him, even if it felt otherwise.
She found the Tan manor. The red-paper door gods remained, but she noticed new slips of paper plastered on the thick panel—bold characters she did not recognize, written in black calligraphy.
She knocked on the door, and Hai Ou greeted her with a slight bow. He was not as tall as his father, but he held himself in the same dignified manner.
“My father is waiting for you in Fei Ming’s quarters,” he said.
She followed his straight back through the manor, across a courtyard and past halls she had not entered during her last visit. Hai Ou finally stepped inside a reception hall.
Brocaded cushions in a rich emerald rested on four carved chairs with arched backs and curved armrests. Landscape paintings spanned the width of each wall, framed in a delicate celadon silk. Sunlight glinted off the gold accents in the room—an oval vase displaying fragrant red roses, a cinnabar serving tray inlaid with gold designs. The reception room opened into Fei Ming’s bedchamber. The lattice doors were pushed aside, allowing a full view.
“Ai Ling, you’ve returned. We are grateful.” Master Tan stepped across the threshold to take her hand in his. “How’s your health?”
She studied the genteel hands that clasped hers and was too embarrassed to pull away. “I slept for a long while. I’m better. How is Fei Ming?”
