by Cindy Pon
“Do you want to rest?” Chen Yong asked.
Ai Ling shook her head, but something in her expression betrayed her misery.
“We’re but a few hours walk from Sentinels’ Grove. It’ll be much cooler there,” Chen Yong said. “We can make camp early tonight.”
“Goddess of Mercy, what I wouldn’t pay for a sedan to tote me along this very moment,” Li Rong said, his face mottled from the heat. “With two women fanning me with palm leaves and another—”
“Save your breath, little brother,” Chen Yong said.
Ai Ling giggled and surprised herself, amazed she had the energy.
They walked on. Finally, she saw tall shapes ahead—bamboo towering above them. They followed the path as it narrowed into the grove. A hush, punctuated only by the occasional twitter of unseen birds, fell over them when they entered the forest.
Ai Ling approached a stalk as thick as a man’s calf. She ran her fingers over the ridges of its divided sections, the shell hard and smooth. Fading light filtered from above, illuminating the regal bamboo shafts that spanned as far as her eye could see. The air was cool, and she was grateful for the shade.
“This is magnificent,” Li Rong said, his face turned upward.
“Bamboo is one of my favorite subjects to paint,” Ai Ling said as they ventured deeper into the grove. A calm settled over her, a contentment to be traveling with good companions, a sense of freedom, a joy and wonder at being alive.
“You paint?” Chen Yong cocked his head, studying her with interest.
“It’s always been a part of my studies. Writing calligraphy is like painting in a way.”
“You can write?” Chen Yong asked, but it came forth more like a statement of amazement.
“My father was a top scholar in the Emperor’s court,” she said, her tone sharper than she intended. “And it may not be common, but yes, women, just like men, can learn to read and write if they are taught.”
Two spots of color flared on Chen Yong’s cheekbones. “I didn’t mean to offend, Ai Ling. I’m traditional in many respects, but I never did understand why girls weren’t taught the language like the boys. My sister was taught how to spar, but not how to read or write.”
“I don’t think An Xue would have been interested anyway,” Li Rong said, chuckling.
“I’d like to see your paintings someday.” Chen Yong moved to stand beside her. Her scalp tingled from his nearness. He turned toward her, lips curved in a smile, and Ai Ling forgave him everything—much to her own chagrin.
“Chen Yong enjoys painting as well,” Li Rong said.
“I’m not very good,” she said.
“Me neither.” Chen Yong tapped on one of the sturdy bamboo stalks with his knuckles. The sound came back solid and strong.
They made camp in a small clearing surrounded by the majestic sentinels. The forest was aptly named, as the bamboo did remind her of those standing guard. Ai Ling felt safe. They gathered broken stalks and twigs, and Chen Yong started a blaze with an oval striker and flint. They clustered around the fire and dined on dried beef, papaya, nuts, and salted biscuits. Ai Ling fished out a fresh apple and pear to share, slicing the fruits with her sharp dagger.
She could not help but think of where the blade had been previously, jutting out of the powerful neck of the serpent demon. The pungent scent of burned flesh returned to haunt her. She did not eat any of the fruit and passed it to the brothers to enjoy. Chen Yong brewed tea for them, always a comfort.
“So what’s so special about you, Ai Ling?” Li Rong asked, breaking the contented silence after their meal. He sat hunched by the fire, sharpening a long, thin bamboo stalk with a small knife, honing the end to a dangerous point.
“What do you mean?” She had been sketching the bamboo in her book and paused before speaking, annoyed by the interruption—perturbed by the question.
“We all saw the lunar telling sticks stand on end,” Li Rong said.
Chen Yong sat with his elbows propped easily on raised knees, gazing into the fire. Li Rong grinned and winked at her, continuing to whittle away.
“I think there may be a spirit that protects me…inside this pendant,” she said finally, raising her hand to the cool jade lying against her breast.
“I’ve seen her pendant glow,” Chen Yong said to Li Rong. “But why didn’t it work against the serpent demon, Ai Ling?” His face did not appear as taut as it had that morning; perhaps he too felt the peacefulness amid the bamboo.
“Maybe because I wasn’t under direct attack?” Ai Ling shook her head. “I don’t know how it works, but it has saved me several times since I began this journey.”
“Who gave it to you?” Li Rong asked.
“My father did.” She paused. “I also seem to have this…ability.”
Both brothers turned to her; Li Rong’s expression one of amusement, Chen Yong’s pensive. “You mean the ability to steal the hearts of all men who lay eyes on you?” Li Rong asked, pressing a palm to his chest.
She twisted her mouth and ignored his comment. “I think I can enter others’ bodies…” She did not know how to explain herself.
“Sounds rather—” Li Rong was interrupted by a thump on the shoulder from his brother.
Ai Ling drew a deep breath. “I think I can delve into other people’s spirits.” She lifted her face to see their reactions.
Li Rong had tucked his chin in surprise, his mouth slack. Chen Yong leaned toward her. “Can you explain?” he asked.
“Better yet, why not demonstrate?” Li Rong added.
“You mock me,” she said, feeling her anger rise.
“Not at all. Delve into me, it’d be a pleasure.” One corner of Li Rong’s mouth slanted upward, his dark eyes twinkling.
She’d show him. “Think something. I can hear your thoughts when I’m within your spirit.”
“Will I feel anything?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You tell me.”
Li Rong sat straight, crossing his legs in front of him. Ai Ling ignored the weight of Chen Yong’s gaze and concentrated on the invisible cord within her navel. She cast it forward, felt the irresistible tug, and entered Li Rong’s spirit.
Where Chen Yong was coiled with strength, Li Rong was loose, relaxed. Yet a power and vigor still dwelled in his limbs, an energy that could be summoned in a heartbeat. His hearing was sharper than hers, and Ai Ling heard the rustling of leaves far above, along with the quiet chirping of bugs which she had not noticed with her own ears.
She quieted her mind and listened to his.
Think of something…think. This is silly. I feel silly. Only for you, Ai Ling. When are you going to kiss me? That’s a thought. When will I get my kiss?
His amusement bubbled and rose to her. Ai Ling would have shaken her head if she could, but instead she released her hold, relaxed, and drew back into her own body with a hard snap.
“How long will this take?” Li Rong asked.
“I’m done.”
“Already? I didn’t feel a thing.”
Ai Ling put her brow against her knee, feeling woozy. Chen Yong leaned forward to fill her teacup, and she lifted it to her lips with a trembling hand. The warm brew steadied her, the scent of the tea leaves sharpening her senses.
“Did it work? What was I thinking?” Li Rong asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and impatience.
“You wondered when we would kiss,” she said, attempting to hide her face in the tiny teacup.
Chen Yong threw his head back and laughed, slapping his palms together.
Li Rong nearly rose to his feet. “That’s an easy guess! You guessed.”
“You also have an ache in your right shoulder. Perhaps it’s bruised from the serpent demon or from sparring yesterday. Your left ankle is scraped. It smarts and bothers you.”
Chen Yong stopped laughing, and Li Rong opened and closed his mouth. Both young men stared at her as if she’d sprouted a second head.
“Is this true, Li Rong?” Chen Yon
g asked.
His brother nodded without speaking. The crackle of the fire emphasized the long moments of silence. Ai Ling fought the urge to curl up and hide. Had it been a mistake to share her strange ability with them? They were only just beginning to feel comfortable together—becoming friends. How would they see her now?
“I can’t believe it,” Li Rong finally said.
“How did I look?” she asked, curiosity overriding her discomfort.
“Quiet. Like you were meditating,” Chen Yong said.
“Try it on Chen Yong,” Li Rong said.
Chen Yong leaned back. “No, thanks.”
“How do you know she hasn’t already? I didn’t feel a thing,” Li Rong said. “It’s like spiritual rape, and no one would know.”
Ai Ling blanched. She dug her nails into her palms.
“Ai Ling wouldn’t do that,” Chen Yong said in a quiet voice. “Mind your words, Li Rong.”
Her neck grew hot. Chen Yong defended her when she had done exactly as his brother accused. She decided in that moment that she would never enter Chen Yong’s spirit again. An instant sense of regret filled her. She remembered his dream, the ache and longing for a love lost, for something that could never be.
“I apologize.” Li Rong turned to her. “You can do it to me anytime.”
Ai Ling punched him in his bad shoulder, and he winced.
“Actually, don’t. My thoughts will only bring me more trouble,” Li Rong said.
“That’s an impressive ability.” Chen Yong added twigs to the fire. “Have you had it all your life?”
She propped her chin on one hand. “No. It started soon after I turned sixteen years. I thought I was imagining it at first.” Ai Ling remembered hearing Lady Wong’s words in her mind: too tall, good hips. “Since starting this journey, the ability has grown stronger.”
“Do you know why?” Chen Yong asked.
She shook her head. “Do you think I’m…strange?”
Chen Yong stirred the firewood. She could tell he was thinking, weighing the facts by the way his brow furrowed. “I think you have this ability for a reason.” He turned and smiled at her. “Maybe we’ll find out why on this journey.”
Li Rong nodded until his topknot swayed. “In the adventure tales I read, the hero always has a special ability.”
Ai Ling laid a thin blanket on the hard ground and arranged her knapsack as a pillow. “The heroes in those tales are men,” she said.
Li Rong rubbed his chin. “Hmm. You’re right. The women are usually there to look pretty. Add to the scenery, so to speak.”
She searched for something to throw at him. Finding nothing, she made do with a loud snort.
“But it doesn’t mean you can’t be one, Ai Ling!” Li Rong explained with boyish enthusiasm, and Ai Ling smiled despite herself.
She put her head down and drew her knees to her chest. She listened to them speak in low murmurs, allowing the dancing flames to coax her into slumber. That night she dreamed of wandering alone in the bamboo forest. But instead of a lush green, the bamboo was ink black with leaves in gradations of gray, like a painting by the old masters.
The next morning, Ai Ling awoke before the others—a first. The day had barely broken, its light too faint to penetrate the mist that swirled like phantoms among the bamboo. The fire had burned out sometime in the night, and the air was damp against her cheeks. Li Rong and Chen Yong lay curled close to the fire pit.
She drew the thin blanket tight about her shoulders, tucking the edge beneath her chin, and stared out at the silver mist. Her mind whirled, trying to make sense of all that had taken place since she left home. With the exception of the snake demon, the others had attacked her, tried to break her spirit. The writhing eel from the ancient lake had told her to go home, lied and said her father was dead. Yes, it must have lied. She couldn’t trust its words, the heartbreaking images it had conjured.
They did not want her to go to the Palace, that much was clear. She wouldn’t let them stop her.
Li Rong scuffled his feet and grunted—no doubt chasing a pretty maiden in his dreams—and woke his brother. Chen Yong sat up and stretched his arms above his head, yawning like a languid panther. She watched him from her thin cocoon, drank in his every movement.
“Good morning,” Chen Yong said in a quiet voice.
Ai Ling wrinkled her nose. “How did you know I was awake?” she whispered.
“I could see the glint of your eyes.” He climbed out of his makeshift bed with fluid ease.
“There’s no light.” She pursed her lips. Why did he have to be so observant? She stuck out her tongue.
“I saw that, too.” Chen Yong grinned at her as he folded his travel blanket, his own eyes hidden.
Ai Ling snorted, quiet enough so she would not wake Li Rong, but loudly enough for Chen Yong to hear. She emerged from her cocoon in reluctant stages, first freeing her shoulders, then rolling the soft cotton down to her hips, finally wiggling her legs out. She rinsed her mouth and wiped her face with her damp cotton rag and also folded her blanket, tucking it back in the knapsack. Her fingers touched a bundle. The letters she had not wanted to share until they were alone. A twinge of guilt wormed its way through her—she had been so selfish to keep them.
Ai Ling withdrew the stack of letters bound in blue ribbon and walked over to Chen Yong, who was preparing to restart their campfire. She handed him the thick bundle. “I should have given these to you sooner. Master Tan asked me to deliver them. He didn’t think he would see you again.”
“My father’s letters?” He was down on one bended knee by the remnants of the fire, his face tilted toward hers.
“Yes.”
He clutched the letters for a brief moment before slipping them into his knapsack. “Thank you,” he said in a thick voice.
She helped to gather more firewood, sat down, and watched him strike a small flint against the carved oval striker, creating sparks like tiny exploding stars. A pinpoint flame finally emerged, fed, and grew brighter.
Chen Yong retrieved the bundle and sat down next to the fire, removing a thin folded parchment with careful hands. The page was yellowed, the black calligraphy visible from the underside as he held it to the light.
Ai Ling watched as he folded each letter after reading it and opened another with gentle fingers. Li Rong sat up, scratching his head. He opened his mouth to speak, saw the expression on Chen Yong’s face, and lay back down again.
So it went until the mist dissipated and sunlight shone through the bamboo leaves above them. Chen Yong sat hunched near the flames, his broad shoulders folded forward, in a posture of reverent prayer. He was oblivious to everything but the words written by a father he never knew. Ai Ling’s gaze did not stray from his face. Faint lines creased between his dark brows at certain moments, crinkled around his eyes when he narrowed them as he read.
Finally he folded the last letter and tied the blue ribbon around the bundle once more. Having stayed silent longer than she would have believed was possible, Li Rong spoke. “What did the letters tell, old brother?”
But Chen Yong didn’t reply and wiped the tears from his face.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The jagged peak towered over them, obscuring half the sky. Ai Ling’s shoulders dropped in exhaustion when they finally arrived at its base. At least a path had been worn for them by the many travelers who made this trek before. They huddled in the shade of the rocks to take a midday meal. She sank to the ground and wished she could do anything else but climb this hill.
They rested for only a short while. Ai Ling rose to her feet with reluctance and drank another swallow of cool water from her flask.
They hiked in silence. Even Li Rong was quiet, the sweat trickling down his face. It was early afternoon when they reached the summit and saw what lay beyond—a vast sea rose, expanding within a heartbeat to surround them, until the endless water merged with the skyline. Ai Ling gasped. She turned to look back at the path from which they had come, but th
ere was no path, no mountain. Only the piece of jutting rock they stood on and the sea that engulfed them. In the distance was the vague shape of land, an island perhaps, shrouded in mist.
“The heavens have mercy,” Li Rong said under his breath.
“We’re trapped,” she said.
“We’re hundreds of leagues from the sea.” Chen Yong drew his sword from its sheath. “This must be sorcery of some kind.”
“Even that island is too far away to swim to, if it is an island,” Li Rong said.
The image of the island before them shimmered as the mist swirled around it. Ai Ling squinted, and thought she saw the reflection of something gold. It wavered and was gone.
“I would think I was hallucinating if you weren’t both standing beside me,” she said.
“What’s that?” Chen Yong pointed. A shape seemed to be moving over the water toward them.
Ai Ling shaded her eyes with one hand. Whatever it was moved fast, almost in a blur. “It glints in the sun,” she said.
The thing suddenly veered up into the sky, and she saw the length of it in its entirety, the underbelly gleaming in shades of blue, turquoise, and green, just like the changing seawater itself. Its length was incalculable by sight, but seemed to stretch over half the distance between the island and where they stood.
No one spoke. They craned their necks to the sky and knew what they saw. A dragon flew toward them, wingless and ushered by clouds. It sliced through the air more gracefully than any bird. When it was above their heads, it began to circle, almost spiraling on its own length as if dancing. Ai Ling could see four feet and gold talons. It drifted downward, escorted by cloud wisps that clung around its tail and underbelly, until it was face-to-face with them. Ai Ling held her breath. She could sense, rather than see, Chen Yong standing frozen, his sword still raised.
The dragon snorted as if in greeting, bobbing lightly, riding the sea zephyrs beneath its belly. Its head was magnificent, the length of one man. Its eyes were luminous pearls; the eyebrows and whiskers flowed like kelp on its face, which was the color of a deep sea green. It grinned, revealing teeth as long as her dagger’s blade.
