The Orchid Farmer's Sacrifice

by Fred Yu

  The Venom Sect was a powerful group of poison users rumored to be four hundred members strong and headed by a ruthless leader named Red Cobra. The officers told him yesterday that Red Cobra was also spotted in the area. Feng laughed and asked how much snake venom it would take to poison an army.

  Then they informed him that the Silencer had killed Tiger General Lo. They had expected this news ever since he was ordered to invade Mongolia and capture the undefeated barbarian king known as the Silencer. General Lo walked into Mongolia with only two hundred men in an apparent act of suicide. As of yesterday they still hadn’t found his body. All his men were dead, and the Silencer took no prisoners. Some even said the Silencer was spotted killing off the Chinese soldiers by himself. General Lo guarded the easternmost fortress in the empire facing the Khitans. For the emperor to order him to march away from the barbarian nation he was guarding against to attack an undefeated Mongol king made no sense at all.

  None of these events should have had anything to do with what happened that morning. The bandits were clearly not members of the Venom Sect. They were thugs carrying steel weapons they didn’t know how to use, fighting in plain view instead of killing from the shadows.

  It was almost noon by now, and Feng was rapidly approaching the City of Stones.

  Chapter 2

  The City of Stones, built at the foot of the mountain chain supporting the Great Wall of China, seemed to be shrouded in a haze against the morning sun. The yellow fog came out of nowhere. Thick and opaque, perhaps the result of a lingering sandstorm from the desert, it engulfed the city with a certain stillness. It hindered travelers and halted traffic from the Silk Road for days at a time. Yet, pedestrians and vendors continued to crowd the city streets.

  Feng had ridden at full speed the entire distance, and well before he could see the city gates, his horse began to slow. Uncle Shu may have returned already, but the guards who discovered his escape could not have reached the City of Stones yet.

  Feng decided not to go to his father right away. In this area nothing happened without his father’s approval, and Feng wished to find answers before confronting the Tiger General.

  Another turn and he was at the gates of the city where he grew up. Feng stopped, dismounted, and drew his horse into the forest. He tied it to a nearby tree and hid his sword under some bushes. He then soiled his hands and face, patted dirt on his body, and headed toward South Gate on foot.

  South Gate was wide open, its massive metal doors reaching three stories tall—impossible to move without a team of soldiers.

  Feng lowered his face when a soldier held him at the gate, the official palm raised in front of him. “What is your business?” the guard asked without looking at the traveler he stopped.

  “Buying supplies,” Feng said. Rude lowlife, I’m going to have you demoted.

  “Go ahead.”

  Feng proceeded across the enormous square. The bustling streets around the square doubled as marketplaces. Vendors and pedestrians, carriages and rickshaws, transport caravans and marching cavalry all shared the same arteries running through the city.

  The haze was easing. He could see the first street across the courtyard and the row of tall, sturdy structures. These buildings, each three stories high and facing the South Gate, housed art galleries, poetry halls, an herbal shop, and an expensive inn.

  He couldn’t help but stop in front of the inn. He and his friends should have drunk here instead. They would still be alive.

  An old farmer with a short beard, driving an empty mule cart, approached with a friendly wave.

  “Where are you going?” the old man asked.

  “The market near the general’s mansion.”

  “Come on, I’m going there too. They’re selling barley for cheap there. And the salted fish merchants are in town again. I’m going to get two fish and a slice of pork. We get to have meat once a week now. How about you?”

  Feng seated himself behind the farmer. “Just getting supplies.”

  The farmer slapped the mule and sent it forward. “It’s a food market. What kind of supplies can you get there?”

  “Maybe some seeds.”

  “Why do you need seeds during dry season?”

  Feng had no idea what the old man was talking about, but he knew he was blowing his cover. “My uncle is taking it down south.”

  “Use our seeds in southern soil? He must be brilliant.”

  Feng released a dry laugh and didn’t respond. He turned to the bustling streets, to the prostitutes waving from the second-floor balcony of the Dizzy Star Palace, then to the candy vendor shouting at the top of his voice, hoping to attract children to his cart. So much had changed for him that morning. Yet, the world around him was the same as any other day.

  In a moment they reached the square before the general’s mansion at the mouth of a bustling market full of vendors in neat, makeshift rows. Shoppers weaved in and out of each other, looking for the next produce stand. The old farmer couldn’t drive the mules into the market. He hopped off to adjust the reins. Feng thanked him and offered a coin for the ride.

  “No need to spend your coin on such a small favor,” the old man said with a big grin. He pulled his mule toward the sweet potato stand. “You can buy eight cucumbers with that!”

  Feng thanked him again and slipped into the market, picking up pace, aware that servants from his father’s mansion—maybe even his own servants—could be out here buying vegetables. He didn’t want to be seen.

  Feng avoided the guards stationed in front of his home and circled around to the back. The sprawling mansion, its shiny tiled roofs glistening against the morning haze, was surrounded by a protective wall twice the height of a man. Leaping over the wall was not an option.

  Feng reached the back of the estate and crawled into an overgrown thicket against the wall, through a small trap door he had utilized as a child, and into the mansion. He used to sneak home through this little crawlspace on nights when he escaped to play outside.

  Once inside, he stayed close to the walls where tall shrubs kept him in the shadows. In a moment he stood outside Mister Xia’s room. His father’s personal servant, who also was the head servant of the mansion, was inside the room, writing the schedule for everyone reporting to him.

  Mister Xia always knew everything, being so close to the general all his life, but he kept to himself and remained quiet until spoken to. He was loyal to the end, and squeezing any answers out of him today would require a little deceit. It was nothing Feng hadn’t done before.

  He stood outside the old servant’s door and reviewed what he would say, then knocked once and waited for the old man to cross the room.

  “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Feng.”

  “Oh! Young master! You could’ve sent someone to fetch me. What a disgrace! I should have come to you instead.”

  Mister Xia opened the door and bowed until his back was flat.

  Feng reached out with both hands and lifted Mister Xia out of his bow. “Stop being so polite, Mister Xia.” He walked past the old servant and into his personal quarters.

  “I—I don’t have anything to drink here,” Mister Xia said. “I can go to the kitchen and—”

  “I don’t need anything. I only want to talk to you for a moment.”

  Mister Xia looked at Feng’s filthy clothing, at the dust on his hands and face, and closed the door with a sigh.

  Feng waited for Mister Xia to return to the little table in the middle of the room. The room was well furnished, filled with prized possessions his father had given the old servant over the years. Each item was well cleaned and in perfect display. Feng remembered coming here as a child and asking Mister Xia to tell him stories about each one.

  “I understand why you’re here, young master. The general must have told you everything.”

  Feng was surprised at his good fortune. The old servant was solemn, sad, and dispirited. Something was wrong, and the general had forgotten to tell his servant
to keep quiet. Perhaps General Mu never expected Feng to come home.

  “My father didn’t tell me everything,” Feng said, hoping to maintain a sense of calm. “He was upset, and I didn’t want to push. I wanted him to get some rest.”

  “Yes, young master. But I don’t know anything. I’m only a servant.”

  “You’re the head servant,” Feng said. “And you know everything about him and about me.”

  Mister Xia’s face brightened. “Of course, I’ve known you since you were a baby.”

  “I heard someone came to see him last night,” Feng began, making a wild guess, hoping to get the old man thinking about the immediate past. “Did you see them?”

  “There were two messengers.”

  “From where?” Feng asked, thrilled with his luck.

  “I don’t know,” Mister Xia said. “The first one came alone. The second came with an entire team, but I was told to leave, so I didn’t get to see them.”

  “An entire team?”

  “Yes, young master.”

  “I know you didn’t see them, but do you know what they look like?” Feng asked.

  Mister Xia shook his head. “One of the servants said the head messenger was dressed like a eunuch, and he carried a yellow brocade box with a dragon on it. Almost like an imperial edict.”

  “An edict from the emperor.” Feng mulled over the information. “But his messengers never arrive in secret. They come with a whole regiment of soldiers.”

  “Yes, young master.”

  Knowing he would expose himself if he prodded further, Feng changed the subject. “And the first messenger. He came alone. Did you hear what he said?”

  The old servant paused.

  “My father told me vaguely, but I want to hear what his exact words were. It’ll help us know who we’re dealing with.”

  “Yes, of course,” Mister Xia responded. “He handed the general a letter, and he said something like, ‘If you want your daughter back alive, deliver the treasure by sunrise.’ I don’t remember the exact words.”

  Feng turned to face the window, afraid the old servant would see the shock in his eyes. He clenched his teeth and breathed as quietly as he could. His sister had been abducted! Someone dared touch the daughter of a Tiger General.

  Then, the image of hundreds of bandits charging in from all sides, surrounding him and cutting down his friends, resurfaced. Perhaps they were waiting to abduct him as well. His father possessed a treasure that someone out there wanted, and they had captured his sister to exchange for it. Perhaps they planned to abduct both the general’s children, but they had failed to seize Feng and only managed to slaughter his friends.

  At the thought of his friends, Feng exhaled, relaxing his face and turning back to the old servant. He couldn’t stop to mourn. He had to find out the truth.

  “What else did he say?” Feng asked, keeping his voice almost to a whisper to mask the constriction in his throat.

  “Nothing else. The general didn’t say anything to him. Everything was in the letter, but the general burned it right away.”

  “He didn’t want to alarm anyone else,” Feng said. “That’s why it’s important we keep quiet about this.”

  “I will.”

  “My father has everything under control. I only want to see how else I can help. I want my sister home as soon as possible.”

  “I don’t know if you want the opinion of an old servant,” Mister Xia said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “I’ve never seen your father so frightened. Whoever is doing this even has the general scared. I know it’s not my place to say this, but—”

  “Everything is under control, Mister Xia. My father is upset, but he knows what to do.”

  “Of course. The general always knows what to do.”

  “Tell me about the messenger. What did he look like? Can you tell what part of the country he was from?”

  Mister Xia thought for a moment. “He was tall. He wore a brown cap, and he had a scar from the corner of his mouth to his ear.” With a crooked finger the old man drew a line down his own left cheek.

  Feng nodded. “Did he carry anything? A weapon?”

  “He had a sword. He left it with his horse outside.”

  “What else was on the horse?”

  “Nothing. Only his knapsack, his water bottle, and an umbrella.”

  “What else did you notice about him?” Feng asked. “What kind of clothing did he wear?”

  “A blue robe made of fine fabric. Maybe silk. There was embroidery on his sleeve.” Mister Xia’s eyebrows knit together with worry.

  Feng stood up to leave. “Thank you, Mister Xia.”

  “I’m sorry, young master. Please stay out of danger.”

  “I’m not going to live in fear.”

  * * *

  The haze was no longer as thick, and the threat of becoming lost in a world of floating sand was fading. Feng had to move fast to find the messenger, who couldn’t have left the city unless he knew the area well. This messenger, who carried an umbrella into a province undergoing its annual dry season—apparently unaware that rain would not come for another month—clearly didn’t know the terrain. If he didn’t know about the dry season, he wouldn’t know how to navigate the haze.

  His father would be angry with him for doing this alone. After all, the Tiger General must have everything under control already.

  And yet, this was personal. His sister was captured, and his friends were slaughtered. Even if he could not save his friends, he would find out where his sister was being held.

  Along South Gate were many inns. Only one had fine food and wine, oversized rooms, and expensive decorations. It faced the square. The messenger wore silk robes with embroidered sleeves, a sign he was well paid and could afford an expensive inn. After departing from the city and arriving at the southern gates, staring into the blankets of floating sand outside, he would’ve had no choice but to turn back. He must have rented a room in the nearest inn.

  Feng headed for the inn facing the gate, a tall building where fine wine was served on the third floor with large windows overlooking the short, flimsy South Gate. The messenger had come to deliver a threatening message, and he would expect the city—either in the open or in the shadows—to threaten him in return. He would monitor the sand situation, ready to depart as soon as he was able.

  Feng stepped into the inn and headed up the stairs to the second floor, his hand clutching the intricately carved wooden banisters. For a moment he stood at the mouth of the stairs. A number of patrons seated on wooden chairs with embroidered seat cushions were eating and drinking around large tables. The messenger would most certainly be alone if he was not hiding in his room. There was only one person drinking by himself on the second floor. Feng waited for him to turn his face, and in a moment he did. There was no scar.

  Feng scoffed and climbed to the third floor, ascending each step on the balls of his feet deliberately, silently. A man in a blue robe with embroidered sleeves sat alone by the window. He leaned into his seat and peered into the haze, his hands opening and closing. No one else was on this floor.

  Feng didn’t bother to check for the scar on his left cheek. This was a man uncomfortable with his surroundings and eager to leave.

  “The haze is going to pass.” Feng approached the table by the window and seated himself across from the messenger.

  The man responded with an impatient grunt and turned back to his drink. The scar showed strikingly on his cheek.

  “It’ll be too dark to travel soon,” Feng continued, “unless you know your way around.”

  The messenger poured his wine and drank it all in one gulp. A sneer broke out across his scarred face. “What do you want?” he asked.

  “I’m bringing you a message from the general.”

  “Since when did the general hire peasants to deliver his messages?”

  “That’s how we remain hidden. That’s how we hear things and see things.”

  “Wha
t’s the message?”

  “The general wants you to know the treasure will be delivered on time, but his daughter must be alive and well. She can’t be missing a hair.”

  The messenger laughed—a hollow, high-pitched laugh. He swayed a little, the alcohol affecting his balance, and threw his head back to swallow the remainder of his wine.

  “So, he does have the Red Crest.”

  The name of the treasure. The Red Crest.

  “Just bring it!” the messenger said. “She’s alive.”

  “I’ll tell him.” Feng reached over to pour more wine into the messenger’s cup. “By the way, how much gold can they get for this Red Crest?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m curious. It sounds important. Must be worth a lot of money.”

  The messenger assessed him for a moment. “I’m only the messenger.”

  “Of course,” Feng said. “Is the delivery location secure? There may be people around. The general doesn’t want his daughter seen in shackles.”

  “Really!” the messenger said with a laugh. “Then I think it’s better to keep her hands tied. And if the treasure doesn’t show up on time, we can throw her into the water after every one of us has our way with her, and then we can watch her drown.”

  I’ll have you executed in public. Feng drew a deep breath and held himself together. “That won’t be necessary. The general is preparing the exchange as we speak. I wanted to know—”

  “All the instructions are in the letter,” the messenger interrupted. “And if the general doesn’t understand, we can send him some of his daughter’s fingers to clarify.”

  Feng held up his hands and flashed a smile. “Nothing like that. The general wants assurance that his daughter is safe. Your leader must be an influential man to retain talent like you. He wouldn’t harm a young girl for this Red Crest.”

  The man lowered his cup. “The general didn’t send you, did he? Who are you?”