by Cindy Pon
“I’m well, thanks to you.” Fei Ming spoke from within his bedchamber. Ai Ling peered past Master Tan’s shoulder and saw the young man smile. Anxiety twisted her stomach. She managed a weak twitch of her mouth.
“Please come in.” Fei Ming indicated a rosewood stool next to his bed.
Ai Ling perched herself on it. Master Tan sat on the other side of the bed in a carved rosewood chair.
Fei Ming looked well. Completely different from the individual who had slouched with his head down, unwilling to meet her gaze when they were first introduced. Completely different from the man with crazed eyes and guttural voice who had attacked her. His dark, wide-set eyes were clear, the eyebrows above, strong and expressive. She felt foolish for her fear but could not look him in the face.
“I don’t recall much from the other night, but I knew that I was not in full possession of my own mind or body.”
Deep lines etched both sides of Master Tan’s generous mouth as he listened to his son speak.
“I told Father as much and as best as I can remember. The part that I do know with clarity is when you came and laid your hands on me. I was barely conscious, it hurt to breathe—there wasn’t enough in each breath. But you healed me.”
Ai Ling stared at her hands, not knowing what to say. “It was a strange and awful night. I’m sorry that…you were hurt.”
Hurt by me.
Fei Ming smiled at her. “Father, don’t you have something to give to my heroine?”
Ai Ling blanched. This was too awkward, the situation too twisted about.
“Ah, yes. I’ll get it.” Master Tan stepped from the room.
She shifted on the stool, clutched her damp palms together, anxious that she was alone with Fei Ming again.
“Don’t worry. Hai Ou is in the adjacent hall,” Fei Ming said.
Embarrassed that her discomfort was so obvious, she opened her mouth to apologize. Fei Ming interrupted with a shake of his head. “You remember it all. I recall little.”
They sat without speaking for a few moments, the melodic twittering of the songbirds filling the silence. “Are you seriously injured?” she finally managed.
He shook his head, his eyebrows lifted in amusement. “The physician said I’m in perfect health. The dried blood on me worried everyone, but I was fine. Father assigned me to bed rest.” He smiled, lighting his face with boyish charm. “I’ll be an invalid today for his peace of mind.”
She was unable to match his good humor. She needed to tell him the truth. Her stomach knotted, anticipating his reaction. “I have something to confess.” She fidgeted on the stool, looked at her worn cloth shoes. “I was responsible for hurting you.” Ai Ling met his gaze for the first time.
Fei Ming did not look angry. He tilted his head in puzzlement.
“I think I have some sort of protective spirit with me,” she said. “I can’t control it.”
His face relaxed, and he examined her with a look of understanding. “I know what it’s like not to be in control of yourself. You’re no more at fault for what happened than I am.”
Relief rose within her. She gave a wan smile in gratitude. Fei Ming studied her until she grew uncomfortable once more.
“How did you do it?” he asked.
Ai Ling considered the question before she answered. “I don’t truly understand it myself.”
He picked at the embroidered quilt with restless fingers. “Please don’t tell my father about your protective spirit. He’s a superstitious man and may not understand.”
Master Tan returned to the bedchamber before she could reply. He held a bundle of papers wrapped neatly with dark blue ribbon. “These are letters from Chen Yong’s father. We searched, but we couldn’t find him. I regret my harsh words.”
“Master Tan, I…Chen Yong and I have gone our separate ways. I’ll not see him again.”
“Nonsense. Chen Yong was as worried for you as I was for Fei Ming when we discovered you were both missing. You have the best chance of meeting him again and giving him this. Please, if you will.”
Ai Ling didn’t know what else to say and accepted the bundle.
“And for you, a small gift. A token of our appreciation for saving my eldest son.” Master Tan handed Ai Ling a long blackwood box. She opened the lid and blinked with shock. Nestled within emerald satin rested a dagger, its blade the length of her hand. The short ivory hilt was encrusted with red jewels, the butt of it covered in gold.
“This is beautiful, Master Tan. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Thank me by taking it to the Ping Peaks and my friend Lao Pan. He can bless it for you, as you’re the rightful owner. It will protect you in the future from evil spirits,” Master Tan said, his face intent.
“What’s this, Father? I thought we were giving Ai Ling a pretty bracelet or ring. A weapon is no gift for a young woman,” Fei Ming said. He spoke what she was too polite to say.
Master Tan removed the dagger from the box, held it by its exquisite hilt. The sharp blade caught the sun and scattered diamonds of light across the bedchamber walls.
“I don’t give such a dangerous weapon without much consideration, son.” He placed the dagger in a black leather scabbard and handed it to Ai Ling. He indicated that she should put it on. She strapped the thin belt around her waist. It felt strange, yet comforting.
“You’re both young and naive to the mysteries of our world—the wonder and danger that lurk outside our doorsteps, and sometimes within.” His gaze swept them both. “What happened the other night was horrific. We can’t know why either of you were targeted. Lao Pan blessed our home yesterday. You’ll need protection, too, Ai Ling.”
“If Lao Pan is not too far…”
“His home is on the way to the Palace,” Master Tan said. “It would give me great peace of mind if you met with him.” He clasped her shoulder with a warmth that made her think of Father, made her long for her own family. “Chen Yong told me about your search for your father. The fame of his intelligence, wise counsel, and kindness traveled far.”
Embarrassed, Ai Ling knew full well that her father’s infamy traveled even further.
As if reading her thoughts, Master Tan said, “I don’t believe that anyone but an honest and brilliant man can raise a daughter like you, Ai Ling.”
She could only nod.
“Will you rest here tonight?” Master Tan asked.
“Thank you, but no. I’ve already tarried long enough. I must find my father.”
“Of course. I’ll make sure you’re given the best provisions for the rest of your journey. Please at least share a midday meal with us before you leave.”
Ai Ling could never refuse a good meal, and agreed, smiling.
It was a feast more than a midday meal. Master Tan must have asked his chef to prepare the best. Ai Ling could not recall a time that she had indulged in dishes this extravagant: roasted pheasant, tender spring vegetables, hand-pulled longevity noodles, spotted porcelain river crabs, and emperor lobsters, named for their large size—dish after dish was brought to the table.
At the end of the meal, Master Tan stood to give a toast. “Ai Ling, we wanted to send you off with a full stomach. May you never go hungry, even during your travels.”
At this, a servant entered bearing a package wrapped in dark cloth and handed it to Master Tan. The older man opened it to reveal many small sacks tied with hemp rope. “I’ve made sure you have enough food to last you your entire journey to the Palace. And a little beyond that.” Master Tan smiled. “It’s not heavy rations. There’s salted beef, squid, dried fruits, nuts, and biscuits. Also some fresh fruit if you’re willing to carry the burden.”
Master Tan gestured for the servant, who took the provisions away. “I’ve also had a detailed map copied for your travels. It shows the best route to take to the Palace. Lao Pan’s cave is marked on it as well.”
Overwhelmed by the generosity, Ai Ling struggled for the right words. “Master Tan, I can’t thank you enough for your
kindness….” Her voice caught in her throat. Was Father even at the Palace?
Both Fei Ming and Master Tan saw Ai Ling to the front gate. “If ever you need anything, just ask,” Master Tan said.
She remembered Bao Er. “Could the boy who helps at the inn come and visit your gardens? He has heard that the fish in your pond are very big.”
Master Tan threw his head back and laughed. “They are indeed. We not only have fish native to Xia, but some collected from other lands. Your little friend is welcome to visit anytime.”
Ai Ling waved good-bye, her heart full. She took a detour to the inn to pick up her knapsack. Bao Er skidded to her door.
“Leaving? So soon, miss?” His thin shoulders slumped as he watched her gather her belongings.
“Yes, Bao Er. But I leave with good news. Master Tan said you can stop by and look at his fish whenever you please.”
The boy hopped about in glee before throwing his arms around her neck. “Thank you, miss! You’ll come back and visit, won’t you?”
She swallowed the knot in her throat and replied yes, not knowing if she would ever return. Her thoughts were on Chen Yong as she left the city. He blamed her for what had happened. What was the use of carrying his father’s letters when their paths would probably never cross again?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ai Ling walked at a brisk pace, already wondering where she would find a place to sleep. She had been frightened the first night she left home and walked through the darkness, but that was before she had encountered so much evil. It was as if the denizens of the underworld stalked her. Ai Ling shook that terrifying thought from her mind. But wasn’t it true? From the monster in the lake who had told her Father was dead, to the demon that had possessed Fei Ming. She recognized it now as the red-faced Spirit Eater from The Book of the Dead. Was it possible?
Goddess of Mercy, had it only been five days since she left home?
The sun descended, streaking the sky with ribbons of vermilion. There was no farmstead in sight. Lush terraced fields reflected the light. The fields had collected recent rains, and the crops grew from pools tinted rose, gold, and green. Ai Ling followed the muddied path beneath these terraces.
Her legs ached and her worn cloth shoes chafed her feet. What wouldn’t she sacrifice for a hot bath and meal. The comfort of the inn—for that spare room with the hard bed was a luxury in her tired mind now—and the extravagant meal at midday seemed a distant memory.
She needed to rest. A tree stump on the side of the road provided seating, and Ai Ling wondered how many other travelers had used it for this purpose. She unraveled one of the packets Master Tan’s chef had prepared, revealing strips of dried squid. She chewed on a piece along with a salted biscuit, then retrieved the last of her sugared walnuts.
They reminded her of Chen Yong. She kicked at a rock near her foot, annoyed at herself for thinking of him again. She kicked another rock in anger at him, for abandoning her so unceremoniously. Ai Ling winced and rubbed her foot, cursing her own foolishness.
She washed the rest of her dry meal down with cold tea from her flask before rising to continue on her journey.
The sun slipped lower, half hidden behind the hilltop, slowly draining the world of color. She was taking another swig of tea when she saw a shape farther down the path. A man. Not within earshot, but definitely a man. He stood unmoving in the middle of the road. There was something familiar about him, and her arms prickled as if a cold breeze had blown through her.
Ai Ling stood frozen, didn’t want to walk toward him. Even as she hesitated, the distance between them folded like a silk scarf, and she was face-to-face with him.
Chen Yong.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.
The voice was hollow. Before she could react, he grabbed her by the wrist. He drew her spirit toward him, and Ai Ling plunged into an endless void, without life and warmth. It drew her in like a whirlpool. Her spirit fought to stay within her body. But this thing was strong. Too strong.
Ai Ling stared into its eyes, and they weren’t the amber eyes of Chen Yong. They were flat and opaque—swirling emptiness. The thing smiled as it continued to tug on her spirit, pulling her slowly now as if sucking through a reed dipped into a pond. She tried to wrench her wrist away but couldn’t even twitch one finger.
A sudden slash of silver arced behind the demon, and its head thudded on the dirt beside her. Vile green curdled from the stump where the head had rested. Chen Yong stood behind his own headless image. She managed a small shake of her head, and a soft wheeze escaped her lips. Was this another demonic imposter? Chen Yong raised his sword and slashed the demon’s hand with one stroke.
The fingers still held her in a death grip. Frantic, Ai Ling shook her arm, her entire body shaking. She sank to her knees, crouching over Chen Yong’s decapitated head. It spoke. “It’s futile to fight, Ai Ling.” The head began to laugh, even as rancid curd frothed from its lips. She choked on the scream lodged in her clenched throat.
Ai Ling hunched over, rocking in terror.
The sword sank and split the high brow in half. The head cracked open like a rotten melon. Ai Ling covered her mouth as the curdlike substance bubbled onto the ground. It stank of vomit. She jerked a hand over her nose, trying not to retch, trying to suppress her hysteria. The body toppled forward. She scrabbled back on her knees, still caught by its fingers, shuddering as she tried to wrench her captured wrist free.
Chen Yong kneeled beside her, steadied her arm and worked to unclasp the clawed hand. Ai Ling flung her spirit toward him in panic—it was the only way she could be sure. She felt the familiar tightness within her navel, the snap as she entered his being. She saw herself through his eyes, stricken and pale, felt her slick trembling hand in his own firm grip. Concern mingled with relief within him. His stoic expression concealed the gallop of his heart, the furor surging through his limbs. Thank the Goddess of Mercy, she’s safe.
She pulled back, the relief so overwhelming she wanted to throw her arms around him. Instead she struggled unsteadily to her feet.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
He seemed to ask that often.
Ai Ling willed her wobbling knees not to cave. She drew a ragged breath. “How…” She didn’t know what to ask.
“I left the city the next day. That night, I made camp in the open. When I finally slept, I was plagued with horrific dreams.” He still clasped her with a strong hand, and she regretted it when he let go. “I woke in the morning and knew something had been near. I could feel it moving away. I followed it.”
Chen Yong looked down at the decapitated head, split in the middle, each half’s mouth pulled in a grotesque grin. He considered it with horrified disgust. “Is that what I look like?”
Ai Ling wiped a sleeve over her face. “Why is this happening?”
“Let’s move away from here—this thing. Do you need help?” he asked.
She nodded, wanting his touch. He sheathed his sword and offered his arm. Ai Ling rested her fingers on the crook of his elbow, feeling self-conscious and grateful.
“Your necklace was glowing,” Chen Yong said.
She looked down at the jade pendant. It still held a wan light, so dim she thought she imagined it. “I think it protects me,” she said.
He studied the pendant, dull now, his face betraying nothing.
They walked at a slow but steady pace. Neither spoke for a long time. She waited for her fingers to stop trembling, for her heart to stop fluttering against her throat. Chen Yong, in turn, scanned the horizon, often stopping to listen to the drone of insects and the rustle of grass and leaves.
Ai Ling concentrated on the steady feel of Chen Yong’s arm beneath her hand. She forced her thoughts toward the mundane, pruning the plum tree in their courtyard, reciting poetry with her father. She suddenly remembered the bundle of letters she carried.
“I met with Master Tan again today. He wanted to apologize and—”
They turned at the s
ame time toward the sound of galloping hooves approaching. It was near dark, and she could not clearly see the figure sitting astride the tall horse. Chen Yong stepped protectively in front of her, his sword raised. Her hand gripped the hilt of her dagger, her pulse racing. What now? She fought the panic that threatened to deluge her, the scent of it trickling from her pores, making her nostrils flare.
“Old brother!” A young man reined in the animal and smoothed its mane in an attempt to calm it.
“Li Rong?” Chen Yong asked, his dark brows drawn together, a hint of mistrust shadowing his face. His sword remained raised.
“Goddess of Mercy, did you pass the dead man on the road?” the young man asked. “Feng nearly threw me off in his fright.”
“It was no man. But it used my image,” Chen Yong said.
The young man dismounted in one fluid motion. He held the reins in one hand with the other arm thrown out wide. Chen Yong hesitated, but Li Rong stepped forward to clasp him in a hug, ignoring the raised sword.
“What happened?” Li Rong asked. The horse snorted, and Ai Ling approached to stroke its neck. It nickered, seemed to calm under her touch.
“The gates of the underworld have been flung open, it seems,” Chen Yong said. His voice was grim when he finished his tale.
“It’s the stuff of ghost tales and nightmares,” Li Rong said. He paused to pull something from his travel satchel. He lit a small gilded lantern as the stars began to glimmer in the sky.
“Is it truly you, little brother?”
“Could this world possibly endure two of me?” Li Rong grinned. Ai Ling guessed him to be her age—seventeen years. He stood slightly taller than she did and was attired in dark gray riding clothes, the long-sleeved tunic hugging his chest with billowing trouser legs below. The lantern illuminated his mischievous expression as he cocked his head at his brother.
“Won’t you introduce me to your beautiful travel companion?” Li Rong lifted the lantern and studied her with an open flirtation that made her ears burn. He was nothing like Chen Yong.
