by Fred Yu
“We didn’t train with them. I only heard they’re known as Zhuge Nu.”
Feng shuddered. The mention of their name brought a chill to his back. He swallowed hard. “Why are they after me?”
“I only follow orders, sir. First we were told to capture you alive, then we were told to kill you.”
“Why send the few of you? Where’s the rest of your regiment?”
“They were ordered to reposition elsewhere.”
“Where?”
“By Lake Dragonfly.”
So, they did plan to ambush his father’s men. Tiger General Mu was impossible to ambush, but if he did move his army into Mongolia, the lower-ranking deputies would march to Lake Dragonfly at dawn. The thought of his sister drowning, her hands bound, unable to cry for help as she slowly sank to the bottom of the lake, brought fire to his eyes. He had to get to Lake Dragonfly and warn his father’s men.
Feng sensed Iron Spider standing behind him. He knew he was left with one move. “If I ask you to help me, what do you want in return?”
“The treasure.”
“I don’t have it,” Feng said. “But if you help me, I’ll do my best to secure it for you, whatever it is.”
“You know what it is.”
“I only know it’s called the Red Crest. I don’t know what it looks like or why it’s so important. But it’s yours if I can get it. That’s the agreement.”
Iron Spider reached down and took the jar from his hand. “It’s a deal. I’ve already called out to the rest of my people. We’ll help you save your sister.”
Feng turned to her. “You’ve called them already? Is this why you are here?”
“This is why we are here.”
“Where are your people from, anyway? No one in China has poison like this.”
“So, you know everyone in China already?” Iron Spider asked. “By age eighteen?”
Feng ignored her comment. “What is this Red Crest?”
“No one really knows,” the old woman said, “but our leader wants it. Helping save your sister in exchange for it is a good bargain.”
“How are you going to help me?”
* * *
The first rays of dawn were already upon him. Feng raced through the forest, cutting a straight path to Lake Dragonfly. He barreled into clusters of armed imperial soldiers and passed them as they fell to showers of poison needles. Before leaving the temple, he changed into the clothing of one of the soldiers. The strong boots allowed him to run like a demon. He had no idea how many members of the Venom Sect the old woman summoned, but they were guarding him, killing his enemies from the shadows and staying one step ahead.
The lake was not far away. He needed to focus, stay alert, and anticipate the enemy’s every move. Somehow he caught himself thinking of Ming, her bright eyes almost in tears when he told her it was safe to go home—that the auntie would send people to escort her, that he would come to see her once his troubles were over. She didn’t want to leave him, or perhaps he imagined so because he didn’t want to see her go.
The edge of the lake loomed, and he paused to shake his head clear. His sister was in grave danger, and he was thinking about the farm girl. Feng gritted his teeth and continued to run.
Two throwing knives darkened with poison streaked past his ears and struck the soldiers emerging from his side. He didn’t look back to see who retrieved the blades.
A wooden house barely large enough for a small family stood a short distance from the lake. He stopped, stood behind a bush, and watched. It was quiet. There was no sign of his father’s army yet. The morning sun inched onto the horizon. It was already sunrise, and the troops were nowhere to be seen.
He could hear in the distance the cries of the slaughtered, but the sounds were faint and scattered—not quite the thunder of a Tiger General’s army in full battle. What he heard was the Venom Sect dispatching the ambush.
Then the ambush must be small. Wouldn’t the Judge send a significant force if he was expecting a Tiger General’s army?
Something was very wrong. Or perhaps Feng had miscalculated, and his sister was not being held here. If his father’s men were not here at dawn, his fears would be confirmed.
Feng stepped out and approached the house. There was only one way to find out for sure.
He walked to the front door, holding his breath in anticipation. There was likely no one inside—at most, maybe a small family still lay in bed, hoping for a quiet morning.
But he had to anticipate the worst.
Feng unhooked a large pouch from a strap around his waist, held it protectively in one hand, and pushed open the door.
The house was a single room, poorly lit and unfurnished. A row of imperial soldiers stood in the middle, fully armed and ready for him. On the floor, bound and gagged, writhing and struggling, lay his sister.
Feng’s eyes met hers for a quick glance before he forced himself to look away. His heart pounded without mercy. Where was his father? How could he leave her to die?
There were other bodies in the room, men dressed as road bandits and street thugs and others dressed as wealthy merchants in embroidered robes, perhaps brothers of the messenger who originally came to demand the Red Crest from his father. Their wounds were still fresh; the blood, still red and flowing, soaked the floor beneath their bodies. So, the thugs they employed were eliminated when they weren’t useful anymore.
Feng turned back to the imperial soldiers. He clenched the pouch in his hand, certain that if Iron Spider didn’t know what the Red Crest looked like, these soldiers wouldn’t either.
“I’m here for the exchange. The Red Crest for the general’s daughter.”
The soldier in front broke out in laughter. He was a stocky man with short sideburns, dressed as a captain of the imperial army. He motioned for someone behind him. “Tell him, Du.”
Feng sucked in his breath. Du, who had been standing behind them the entire time, now stepped to the front with an envelope in his hand. Feng clawed at his inner pockets. The letter his mother had given him, the one meant for the prime minister, the one that would save his father, was no longer there.
A burning sensation filled his chest, and he strained to breathe. How could this be? How could it be Du?
Feng wished he had died that morning with his friends. It would have been so much easier.
Du pulled the letter out of the torn envelope and read, “Dear Prime Minister Chao, the bearer of this letter—my son, Mu Feng—carries the Crest of Destiny, now known as the Red Crest, on his buttocks. Yours truly, Mu Chien, Tiger General of the Uighur border.”
Feng’s face was burning. What did this mean? The strange symbol on his buttocks was a birthmark. It had been there all his life.
“Now you know,” Du said. “You’re the treasure.”
Feng barely heard him. Complex thoughts churned in his head—images of his friends surrounded and stabbed, the rapid-fire arrows covering the daylight, his mother giving him this letter, telling him to deliver it for his father’s safety when all along it was a plea to the prime minister to keep him safe. Why would the prime minister protect him because of a scar on his buttocks called the Red Crest? The Crest of Destiny, as his father had written in the letter.
While Feng was frozen in deep thought, the captain suddenly drew his knife and slashed his sister across the throat.
She never had a chance to scream. Her face was in horror, staring at Feng, her eyes bulging, her mouth twitching as she choked on her own blood. Slowly she faded and became limp.
Feng began to tremble. In a split second the sister he grew up with had been slaughtered within striking range of where he stood, and he had done nothing about it. He could no longer maintain his composure; he could no longer restrain himself. He stumbled to her body, fell to his knees, clenched his fists, and screamed.
All the air escaped his lungs, and he collapsed beside her with his head bowed, his eyes squeezed together, his body shaking in sobs. He remembered promising her he would walk along with h
er carriage on her wedding day so she wouldn’t be afraid while she was delivered to her groom. He remembered telling her that one day he would teach her sons to become great generals, and he would guarantee careers in the military for them. He thought of childhood memories, of the times she snuck into his room at night because she was afraid of the dark. He would keep forty candles stored under his bed, and he would light them all while she fell asleep.
But now she’s gone. Feng choked on his own tears. She was killed, and he had done nothing.
Men were screaming all around him, but he didn’t lift his head to look. He heard the soft whisper of needles flying past him, the thudding sound of throwing knives entering a man’s torso, the sick gurgles of men dying of deadly poison.
All was still. Du groaned in pain, and the captain with the short sideburns wailed in empty gasps. The Venom Sect, outnumbering the small group of soldiers by many, finally trickled into the room. Feng thought he heard Iron Spider’s voice, the words of a few men in response, and then the light voice of a young woman.
For a moment he thought he was dreaming about her.
“Yes, master,” someone said to her. Feng lifted his head and stared. Ming was standing over him, her entire demeanor and body language forming an image of power and supremacy. She was dressed in bright red, her sleeves and collar woven with complex patterns. Her hair was bundled behind her head and strapped with vivid fabric, and she wore a heavy belt laden with intricate gold.
“Ming . . .” Feng’s voice was a hoarse whisper. He lowered his head.
What was happening? Why was there blood around his sister?
He thought he would faint.
Ming motioned for two men to approach. “Tie this one up.”
“My sister . . .” Feng whispered.
Two men drew his hands behind him and strapped coarse rope around his wrists. They pulled him to his feet and spun him around to face their leader. Feng twisted against the restraints only for a second before his own tears blinded him and he could no longer see where he was. “Ming. My sister is bleeding. She’s still alive. You have to help her.”
Ming turned away and motioned for her men to follow.
“Help her, Ming!”
“Really not as smart as you look,” Iron Spider said behind him. “Her throat’s been slashed open.”
Feng froze. The reality of what he had seen replayed in his head over and over again. She was dead. Her throat had been slit. She was dead.
He turned to Iron Spider. “You’re not really hurt?”
“Did you think a few soldiers could make me bleed like a slaughtered pig?” she asked. “I simply didn’t have time to chase you. But it was nice of you to come back for me. Made it easier to figure out what this Red Crest is.”
“The Red Crest? My birthmark?” Feng shouted, uncertain whether he would survive this. “Then why bother helping me? You could’ve gotten what you wanted. I was unconscious!”
“We didn’t know what it was,” the old woman said. “We also thought it was a magical object.”
“Magical object?”
“Master, what about the other two?” one of the men asked.
Ming gazed at Du, then at the leader dying on the ground. “The poison will burn through them soon enough. Let them die a horrible death.” She turned to leave.
“Wait,” Feng shouted. His breathing became rapid and uncontrolled. “Give me back my bronze plate, Ming.”
Someone punched him in the back of the head. “How dare you say the master’s name!”
Feng choked but lifted his head to face her. “So, it really is your name. It sounds a lot nicer than Red Cobra. Isn’t that what they call you? Red Cobra? Give it back to me. The tiger plate.”
Ming laughed. “I threw it away. Did you give away your most valuable possession in the hopes of winning a girl’s heart? How pathetic.”
She headed toward the door again, the gold and silver ornaments on her dress flashing against the sunlight.
Feng glared at the captain writhing on the floor. “He killed my sister. I want him to drown in his own blood.”
Ming halted for a moment. She drew a long dagger from her belt. “Release him.”
Her men stepped away. She threw the dagger to Feng as soon as his hands were freed. “Isn’t that squealing pig on the floor your friend? You get to kill him yourself. Or you can let the poison kill him nice and slow. My gift to you.”
Feng reached down and grabbed the captain by the hair, dagger in hand, and pulled his head back to expose his throat. Without a word he severed the windpipe as deep as he could. Blood poured from the gaping wound. The captain’s eyes bulged.
Feng sat back to watch the man die the same way his sister died, the blood from the wound flooding the captain’s lungs while he twitched and choked and struggled. It only took a short time for him to drown. When the last spurts of dark blood ejected from the gaping wound, Feng found himself laughing.
Ming disappeared from the room. Feng turned to Du with the dripping dagger in his hand. Iron Spider shook her head and walked away.
“Why are you doing this, Du?” Feng asked. “Aren’t we best friends?”
Du was tearing in pain and fear. “Sorry, Feng. I’m sorry.”
“So, you led her to them,” Feng said, his voice deeper, colder than ever. “That’s why you didn’t come drinking with us. Did you bother to ask why they wanted her, or did you know all along?”
“I’m sorry, Feng . . . I’m sorry.”
“I can’t save you, Du. The poison’s already in your body. But I can end it for you.”
Du nodded between gasps. He lifted his hand, trembling, crying. “We’re old friends. Yes, do it for me.”
“I will. As soon as you answer my questions.”
Du screamed. He twisted on the floor, his fists clenched, his body in heavy convulsions. “Help me. It hurts.”
Feng placed a hand on his cold forehead. “Of course it hurts, you lowlife scum. But I can make it go away. Answer my questions first, and I’ll take care of you. After what you’ve done to me, it’s not too much to ask.”
Du wheezed, gathering his breath, and nodded.
“Who do you work for?”
“Zeng Xi,” Du said between hard gasps.
Feng started, a searing heat rushing through his chest. “The Great Prodigy Zeng Xi?”
Du nodded.
“And he works for the Judge,” Feng said.
“You already know. Then help me. You already know everything.”
“Zeng Xi has become a very powerful man. Why would he come after me? Is it something against my father?”
Du shook his head, his expression lifeless, his breath shallow. “He . . . he was told to find the treasure. To use his army to get the Red Crest.”
“What is this Red Crest?” Feng asked.
“I don’t know. I only know it’s some symbol, and I saw some symbol on you last summer when we joined that swimming competition. I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know it was so important.”
“Did Zeng Xi order my sister’s capture?”
“He . . . he ordered her killed when the Red Crest was secured.”
“Why?” Feng shouted. “She’s innocent! Why kill her?”
Du screamed again, his body twisted, his lips trembling, his clenched fists shaking. “Help me . . .”
“What did they pay you?” Feng asked.
“They promised—” Du had to stop as a wave of pain took over his body. When it passed, he calmed and continued. “They promised to make me a general. I always wanted to be—”
“A general?” Feng asked, raising his voice. “You were promoted every other year in our army! You could’ve been general by age forty!”
“But I’d still be serving you!” Du managed to shout. Then he calmed, straining for air. “You’re always better. I’m always quiet next to you. But I can be a general. I can be great too.”
Feng’s teeth grinded in hate and anger. “You fool! You idiot! You coul
d never be great. I will have my servants step on you like a pile of cow manure.”
Du lowered his head.
Feng stared at his friend, at the twisted face, the trembling lips, the unbearable pain ripping through his body.
“Who’s the Judge?” Feng asked. “What does he want with me?”
“He . . . he offers a huge reward to anyone who captures or kills the man with that symbol. The Red Crest. It has magical powers.”
“It’s a birthmark, Du!”
“You . . . you will bring the Mongols into China. And destroy our country and our people. Our culture.”
Feng leaned forward. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s written in your father’s letter,” Du replied, his voice fading. “You carry the Red Crest.”
“And so, you told them we were outside the City of Stones two nights ago. You told them to come and kill me and Ding and Wen and Little Chu! Then why didn’t you try again when I returned? Why pretend to be my friend for another day?”
“I did. I watched you go into that inn by South Gate.”
Feng’s hands were sweating. He would never have thought. “You notified the Zhuge Nu to fire into the inn?”
Du nodded, slowly fading away. Feng grabbed him by the forehead and slammed his skull into the floor to wake him. “Who do you think you are? Do you know how many people you killed in that inn? Who gave you the right?”
Du squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of pain shot through his body. He lifted his face to scream. Small pockets of blisters began forming on his face around his lips and under his chin. Feng released him and sat back.
“How many more of you are out there looking for the Red Crest?”
“Everyone,” Du said. His body wouldn’t stop trembling. “Every thug, every whore, every bandit is after the reward.”
“And they’ll get this reward if they kill me? What does this have to do with my sister?” Feng shouted. “You knew her all your life, Du! How could you do this? How could you?”
Feng had only meant to get answers, not to spend these precious seconds in a screaming monologue. But his head was spinning, his mind roaming through so many random thoughts and painful images that he no longer knew what else he could ask.