by Cindy Pon
He tapped the front of the book with long fingers. Ai Ling hesitated before speaking again. “I’ve seen that book in my father’s study. I thought they were made-up tales to scare children.”
Lao Pan pulled back, tense. “You’ve read this?”
She looked down. It was like being caught by her own father.
“It’s not light reading…nor for the impressionable, young, or weak-minded.” He rapped the leather cover hard, as if for emphasis. “Rui is never allowed to open this book unless in my presence. It’s not to be read without guidance, girl.”
Ai Ling stared at her clasped hands, feeling guilt mingle with irritation. Father had warned her, and that was exactly why she had looked. “It’s just a book.” She raised her chin and met the seer’s cutting gaze. “And I am not weak-minded.”
He pursed his lips. “It’s not make-believe, Ai Ling.” He flipped through the thick pages as if searching for clues. “The demonic creatures described within these pages are summoned through the dark arts. You’re fortunate to be alive.”
He closed The Book of the Dead with a dusty thud. “Perhaps the lunar telling sticks can offer us a clue.” The seer stood and, his thin arms straining with the effort, slid the heavy book back onto the shelf.
“But first, let us take our morning meal together. The mind and body cannot function properly without sustenance.” Ai Ling rose to follow Lao Pan. She could not agree more.
Breakfast was hot rice porridge with salted fish, pickled carrots, and spicy bean curd. Chen Yong, Li Rong, and Ai Ling sat together on the stone benches, which were configured into a half moon underneath a starfruit tree. They ate without much conversation. Ai Ling enjoyed the quiet calm of the morning, the feeling of sanctity this small dwelling within the mountains offered.
Rui took the used bowls and utensils away after the meal and brought lukewarm tea. Lao Pan whispered something to him, and Rui hurried back into the house. He reemerged soon after, holding a carved ebony canister filled with bone-colored sticks.
“Have you used these before?” Lao Pan asked. Ai Ling shook her head. She had seen others use them at the temples but had never tried herself.
The seer pulled one stick from the canister. It was flat and wide as a thumb, rounded to oval points at both ends and polished until it shone like the moon. A phrase was inscribed on the stick in black. “Each has its own saying,” Lao Pan said. “You ask your question and shake the canister until one falls to the ground.”
Lao Pan demonstrated as everyone watched, holding the canister diagonally and shaking it in a slow rhythm. The sticks began to shift forward, clattering against one another. “I can interpret the saying for you. It may offer some insight to your situation.”
He handed her the canister. Ai Ling stood under the shade of the tree, feeling awkward. “Ask the question in your mind. We can discuss it after a lunar stick falls in answer.”
Feeling self-conscious and a little foolish, she closed her eyes. Will I be able to find Father? She began moving her hands up and down, the sticks clanking in a soothing cadence as they bounced forward. She continued shaking as five sticks separated from the rest, then three. Finally one escaped from the cluster and dropped to the ground.
Ai Ling heard a gasp and glanced toward Rui, who gaped at her feet. She looked down and saw that a lone stick stood poised on its rounded tip, as if hanging by an invisible string. Lao Pan rose from the bench and touched the perpendicular stick, and it fell to the ground.
“I’ve never seen the like. The fortune cannot be told unless the stick lies flat of its own accord. I never thought it could do anything otherwise until today.” He picked up the errant stick and put it back into the canister.
“Try once more,” he said.
She closed her eyes again. Ai Ling conjured her father in her mind, guiding her hand as she wrote calligraphy. Will I be able to find Father? She shook the canister steadily and watched the sticks move forward in a group, then the few that slipped ahead of the others. Two sticks fell from the canister at the same time. Both stood on end.
Everyone stared at the upright sticks until Ai Ling grew uncomfortable.
Lao Pan finally plucked them from the ground. “Your fate cannot be told. The Immortals must have a hand in this.”
“The Immortals!” Li Rong exclaimed. “The Immortals do not interfere in the realm of man—if they even exist.”
Lao Pan glanced at the young man, his expression austere. “Not unless they have to.”
Everyone turned back toward her. Ai Ling tilted her chin and tried to appear unaffected. “So much for gaining insight,” she said.
Lao Pan smiled. “I fear I can offer no help there. But I can bless the dagger Master Tan gave to you. It will take all morning but will be worth the wait.” The seer gestured to Rui, who stopped gaping at Ai Ling and retreated with the lunar telling sticks back to the house.
“A blessed weapon can offer protection against the tainted and undead,” Lao Pan said.
Ai Ling pulled the dagger from her waist and handed it to the seer. “I would be in your debt.”
“It is my pleasure to help those who need it.” Lao Pan bowed and disappeared into the house.
The three companions sat under the starfruit tree in silence. Finally, Chen Yong let out a low whistle. “It seems even the Immortals cast an eye on you from the heavens, Ai Ling.”
Chen Yong’s comment broke her reverie. There was too much to think about—too much she couldn’t comprehend. “I just want to bring Father home.”
Chen Yong studied her, then nodded in understanding.
Li Rong cleared his throat. “It’ll be a while before Lao Pan is done with his incense waving and strange mutterings. How about you and I do a little sparring?”
Chen Yong grinned. “I haven’t beaten you enough?”
“The presence of a beautiful woman”—Li Rong bowed toward Ai Ling—“will inspire me to fight harder.”
She pretended not to hear him, but the now-familiar heat crept from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. Ai Ling pulled out her small sketchbook as a distraction. She could sketch Feng and use it as reference for a horse painting someday.
Chen Yong laughed. “Come on, then. This space is perfect.”
She had never seen sparring before and did not know anyone who practiced shuen. She couldn’t decide whether to continue the guise of drawing or simply put down the sketchbook and watch.
The two brothers faced each other in the oblong courtyard, warming up with some kicks and punches. Li Rong shook himself vigorously, like a wet dog, and she giggled into her drawing.
“Nothing but applause, please, lovely lady. Kisses are welcome as well.” Li Rong winked at her with a wide grin. She was unable to pretend she hadn’t heard this time.
Chen Yong coughed, which sounded suspiciously like a snort.
“Ready, old brother,” Li Rong said.
They took a wide stance, their hands raised in loose fists in front of their torsos. Li Rong dropped to the ground and swept his leg out in an arc, kicking dust in the air. His brother simply danced out of the way.
“You’re too slow to use that for your first attack.” As he said this, Chen Yong jabbed one hand out toward Li Rong’s chest, which Li Rong struck out of the way with his forearm at the last moment.
“You’ve been practicing,” Chen Yong said.
Li Rong responded by punching him in the chest. But Chen Yong spun and vaulted, landing behind him. Ai Ling blinked, her sketchbook in her lap now, watching with open fascination. Chen Yong’s hand darted like a viper and hit Li Rong in the lower back. She heard Li Rong grunt as he sprang on one hand and somersaulted out of the way.
The brothers circled, staring with unblinking eyes. Sweat glistened on their brows.
“I didn’t hit with full force, little brother.”
“I’m not six years still.” Li Rong ended the sentence with a kick to Chen Yong’s chest, accompanied by an exhalation of air that became a gruff yell. The next
thing Ai Ling knew, Li Rong was on the dirt ground, with Chen Yong towering over him.
“You let pride distract you.” He offered Li Rong a hand.
Li Rong did not take it, but leaped to his feet in one fluid motion. He loosened the sash on his tunic and shrugged it off, rolling his shoulders. He took the open sparring stance again.
Chen Yong turned to face him, and Li Rong met his gaze with a resolute intensity. Chen Yong untied the sash around his own tunic and tossed it to the side. Li Rong’s frame was taut, wiry. Chen Yong was broader, his muscles dense and powerful.
Ai Ling gnawed her lower lip as she watched, the morning light glistening off of their slick bodies. Maybe it was time to start sketching Feng again, or the starfruit blossom. Instead, she admired the lithe forms of the two brothers as they danced around each other, kicking up dirt, limbs flashing so fast in combinations she was not sure she even saw. There was no sound but their heavy breathing and the scuffle of their feet.
The sun crawled overhead. She felt the sweat collect on her own brow and wished for a drink. But she did not stir from the bench.
Chen Yong suddenly thrust forward as if to punch Li Rong in the face, but instead he brought a leg up and kicked him square in the chest. Li Rong doubled over with an audible grunt and fell to his knees.
“No, you certainly aren’t six years anymore,” Chen Yong said.
Li Rong squinted up at him. Chen Yong offered his hand a second time. “You’ve improved tremendously. You kept your concentration and cast away your emotions.” The admiration was clear in his voice. Li Rong took his hand this time.
The two brothers bowed low to each other, one hand clasped over a closed fist.
“Thank you, Chen Yong.”
Ai Ling could see the respect Li Rong held for his older brother, even if they teased each other constantly. Li Rong tugged his tunic back on and wiped the sweat from his face with one sleeve. He then disappeared behind the house, where the well and washroom were located, and emerged not long after, looking refreshed, but still a bit flushed.
Li Rong joined her at the stone bench. “May I?”
They both watched Chen Yong go through his forms, bounding into the air with grace and executing kicks and punches that made him look as if he were flying.
“You accompanied Chen Yong to see Master Tan?” Li Rong asked.
“He asked me to.”
He turned and tilted his face. “To be truthful, I’m surprised. He must trust you. It hasn’t been easy for Chen Yong, being half foreign. He’s always on guard.”
Ai Ling recalled the insults and scrutiny he had endured as he searched for Master Tan.
“I urged that I should go with him on this journey. I offered many times, but he refused. He’s so stubborn. He said he had to do this alone. You reached him, somehow.”
Ai Ling’s heart soared, and she furrowed her brow to disguise her pleasure. “Chen Yong told me he was adopted.”
“My parents took him in when my eldest brother, Tian Ren, was just one year. Father insisted. But my mother was always partial to her firstborn and the son of her own blood.” Li Rong sighed, a seriousness passing over his roguish features. “She treated Chen Yong well enough but, in the end, insisted on arranging a marriage between my eldest brother and Chen Yong’s childhood love.”
Ai Ling glanced at Chen Yong, who continued through his forms, oblivious to all else. His face was serene, but she could hear his breath quicken with each movement. Did Chen Yong love this girl still?
“I didn’t know,” she said, her mood heavy now.
“He doesn’t talk about it with anyone. It only made him more withdrawn,” Li Rong said.
“And this childhood love…?” Ai Ling felt compelled to ask. Was she beautiful, accomplished, and elegant? She looked away, trying to mask her interest.
“She loved Chen Yong as well,” Li Rong said.
Of course she did.
“But she was the best match for the family, and Mother made sure that she married Tian Ren—her favorite. No one else had a say in it.” He spoke quietly as he watched his brother. “Chen Yong was devastated. He tried not to let it show. But I know him well enough to know he suffered.”
Ai Ling stared at her hands. “That’s so sad.”
“Ah, who weds for love anyway? We’re bound by what our parents dictate when it comes to marriage.”
Her stomach twisted. “My parents wed out of love,” she said, surprised by her own vehemence.
“That’s a rarity, isn’t it?”
“I don’t understand why it has to be. And Chen Yong is here because his parents were in love.”
Li Rong scuffed the ground with his shoe. “I guess that’s one way of seeing it. But out of love, they only managed to be selfish and create scandal, defying an entire empire for their own desires.” Li Rong looked toward his brother. “Not that I would or could ever imagine life without him. I just wonder what Chen Yong himself would have chosen, if he could.”
Ai Ling also turned her gaze toward Chen Yong. She didn’t have an answer.
Li Rong slapped his thighs with open palms. “I think I’ve lost enough face today. It gives me incentive to practice harder and win back my honor.” He shook his fist in the air, a look of determination on his handsome, boyish face.
Ai Ling laughed, her heart lightening with his good humor.
“Really, I’ve never been able to beat him. No one has. And my father’s family prides itself on its knowledge of shuen. Even my sister was taught from a young age.”
Li Rong turned to his brother and shouted, “Enough showing off for our lovely companion. You’ve made me look bad enough as it is.”
Chen Yong finished with a final leap and kick, twisting around in a complete circle midair, arms flung over his head, fingers splayed wide, weightless before landing on his feet. He pressed his palms together and bowed.
“The mantis takes its prey,” Li Rong said. He saw the confusion on her face and smiled. “It’s the name of that last move.”
Chen Yong also disappeared behind the house, emerging a few moments later. He strode toward them in long easy steps, as if he had not spent the last hour leaping about like a graceful leopard.
“He hasn’t talked your ear off?” Chen Yong asked. “Are you promised yet?”
Li Rong thrust a pretend kick to his brother’s shin. “You need to marry before I do, old brother.”
Chen Yong’s smile dropped, the humor wiped from his face. Li Rong blanched, obviously regretting his jest. He leaped to his feet and slapped his brother on the shoulder. “Next time, I’ll win. Ai Ling is my witness, and I can’t go back on my word to a beautiful woman.”
“Let me know if he bothers you,” Chen Yong said, amusement quirking the corner of his mouth.
But Ai Ling had not missed the pain that had pinched his features. Even if he had hidden the emotion in the span of one breath. He still cared for this girl, his childhood love.
She managed a tight smile and shook her head, hoping her mask was as persuasive as Chen Yong’s.
Li Rong laughed.
“I see you’ve charmed another one, little brother. Impressive.”
The midday meal did not disappoint. The steamed silk-thread bread was light and slightly sweet. This was paired with cold spiced lotus roots and bean curd mixed with a savory minced pork sauce. She watched the two brothers dig in to the meal, eating voraciously. Ai Ling wasn’t used to competing at the table, but she filled her small porcelain bowl often, for fear the food would disappear.
But they need not have worried, as Rui returned with a second tray laden with filled plates.
“The food is delicious, Rui,” Chen Yong said. “Did Lao Pan prepare this?”
The boy smiled shyly. His skin was dark, making his round eyes seem even brighter. He wore a black square cap on his head, similar to the seer’s. “My grandfather does not have time to prepare meals. I do. I must learn everything as his apprentice.”
Ai Ling clinked the eating
sticks against her empty bowl in appreciation, and Chen Yong and Li Rong followed suit. “It was a wonderful meal, Rui,” she said.
Rui bowed low, bobbing his head with obvious pleasure. He retreated back into the house and returned with a tray of fresh-cut starfruit drizzled in honey.
“Are these from your tree?” Ai Ling asked.
“The last offerings of summer.”
She bit into the golden fruit; its five points tinged in green, savoring both the tartness of the fruit and the silken sweetness of the honey.
“I’m going to burst,” Li Rong said as he shoved another piece of starfruit into his mouth. He reclined fully on the bench with a groan, forcing Chen Yong to sidle next to Ai Ling. She was acutely aware of him, thinking of the last time he had touched her and how she had entered his spirit. She edged away, fearing it would happen again.
She was grateful when Lao Pan emerged from his house. He walked stiffly and carried her dagger nestled in his two outstretched palms. He presented the weapon to her.
“I’ve imbued it with the most powerful chants of protection. It has also been bathed in an elixir to make it truly harmful to the undead. Any evil creature of this world can be hurt by it.” He bowed his head, and she did the same, feeling that it was appropriate in this moment.
She took the dagger and examined it. Her features reflected from its silver surface, warped. The stones glittered in the sunlight, and the end of the dagger looked even more honed at its dangerous point.
“Thank you, Lao Pan—”
The thin seer raised a hand before she could continue. “You owe me your tale when it is fully told. It’s unusual for a girl your age to carry such a dangerous weapon, but from what you have told me, from what the lunar sticks would not tell, my efforts will not go to waste.”
Lao Pan clasped her shoulder, surprising her with his familiarity. “Take good care, Ai Ling.”
“I’ll send word to Master Tan when I return home with my father.”
“I’m certain it will be a most interesting journey,” Lao Pan said.
