by Fred Yu
The tall figure of a general clasped in a flowing red cape emerged from the other side of the sloping rock. Zeng Xi was approaching the fake Red Crest, and there was little time left. Feng drew the porcelain bottle from his pockets and uncorked it with one finger, then slipped in front of a row of unsuspecting soldiers and flung the liquid into their eyes. He corked the bottle in the same motion, lifted both his hands to cover his own face, and pretended to scream.
All around him, soldiers of the invasion held their faces and emitted the most hideous cries. Some collapsed to the ground, clenching their dissolving eyelids and shrieking in horror. Others swung their weapons into each other as the poison blinded them completely.
“Positions!” someone shouted.
“Where’s the ambush! Where’s the ambush!”
The pike men turned away from Ming and rushed back to the sloping rock to contain the madness.
Feng slipped behind the chaos and ran to Ming’s lifeless body. He didn’t have time to feel her pulse. He could only assume she was still alive. He threw her slender figure over his shoulder and ran for the edge of the cliff.
A booming voice behind him brought a new sense of panic to his shaky rescue. Zeng Xi’s voice, rising above the rest, soared into the sky and hovered above him.
“The burn marks are fresh,” Zeng Xi shouted. “Stop him!”
Feng knew time was not on his side. It never was.
“Stop him!” he heard Zeng Xi shout again.
The waterfall loomed before him, propelled by multiple tributaries rushing down the steep back of Mount Oleander and merging into one powerful rush that pounded the bottom of the ravine. The rushing water stirred up a mist so dense it was impossible to see where the waterfall ended.
Feng reached the edge, braced himself, and leaped over. He landed on the first platform, crumbled under an awkward landing, and choked in pain. There was no time. In a moment they would be able to see him. He climbed to his feet, held Ming tighter, took a running jump, and lunged for the ridge behind the waterfall.
He landed against a wet slope and suddenly became horrified that he had miscalculated the ledge, that it was not a flat surface but a slippery incline leading him directly into the waterfall. He was sliding, crashing, diving into the Immortal Falls with no way to slow his plummet.
The water pounded him, striking his nose and mouth with such force that he thought his neck would snap. He held Ming even tighter, bracing for the endless drop to the bottom, where crashing water and sharp rocks awaited them. He wanted to scream, but his breath was muffled. He wanted to see, but his eyes were forced shut. When the water struck him, he thought he heard the clap of thunder.
Chapter 9
Feng found himself on dry ground when he finally woke up. He had no idea how, but he could breathe and move. He scrambled to his knees and reached around to check on Ming. Her breath was uneven but strong. He released a long, painful sigh and leaned back.
They were in a cave behind the waterfall. The soft light of the setting sun pierced the water and illuminated the barren rocks around him. The cave was not deep, but it was as wide as the waterfall itself. Thick algae covering the walls around him dripped with heavy beads of water.
He climbed to a kneeling position and reached down to examine Ming’s injuries. They were not severe. None of the opened wounds were deep, nor did they reach any major organs. If he could stop the bleeding, she would be safe.
He didn’t know what to bandage her wounds with. His own clothing was filthy, wet, and vile with the stench of a dead soldier bleeding from the throat only moments ago. Her clothing was equally wet, and he could not take off her outer robes regardless of whether she was fully clothed underneath.
Feng was out of ideas. With a sigh he tore off his scale armor, severed the strings to make it smaller, and wrapped the steel around Ming’s small body. He pulled the straps with all his strength to hold her body together. He hoped if he squeezed her arms against her torso, the opened wounds would be forced to close, and the bleeding would stop. Afterward he leaned back and waited.
Feng climbed to his feet and stood closer to the waterfall to listen. Zeng Xi’s men were screaming above, and he could almost discern the orders they barked at each other. “Find their bodies downriver! The general wants the river blocked! Tell them to prepare sandbags down there!”
There were additional shouts outside, and the voices became softer and more distant. In a moment Feng no longer heard their commotion, and the war drums, which were still mid-mountain, signaled a full withdrawal. At least they were not preparing rope to descend into the Haunted Valleys. So, Zeng Xi was not interested in exterminating the Venom Sect after all. Maybe he didn’t gather thousands of soldiers to kill one girl.
It couldn’t be about the Red Crest. Ming captured him that morning, and the invasion appeared at the foot of Mount Oleander by noon. Even the Great Prodigy could not mobilize an army at the blink of an eye. It would take that long for every man to don their armor and gather their equipment, much less assemble and receive instructions.
The bloodied collar he wore continued to emit a foul stench, and Feng thought he would vomit. He had worn someone else’s clothing for too long. He had never worn clothing that wasn’t tailored for his shape, made of the finest materials, and crafted by the best in the City of Stones. The soldier’s uniform, now wet and clinging to his body, made him retch.
Feng stripped off his top, leaving his trousers on, and leaned into the waterfall to wash himself. The cold water pummeled his back, stinging his many injuries. But he felt cool, awake—he had never felt so alert since leaving the City of Stones. The thought of being clean brought a tingling sensation to his body, and he leaned farther out over the ledge to rinse himself.
Something below him caught his eye. He spotted footholds chiseled into the vertical rocks behind the falls. The wall of rushing water illuminated by the golden twilight revealed yet another cave, this one with a smaller opening. He wondered what could be down there.
Absolutely nothing, he told himself. Yet, someone bothered to carve footholds into the stone. He had to find out.
Feng flipped himself over the ledge. The rushing water from the inner edge of the waterfall pounded his back while he secured his weight against the first foothold. He lowered himself, barely dangling by his fingers, until he reached the next foothold, then the next, until the cave below was underneath him. He dropped into the narrow opening.
The cave was shallow, and the piercing twilight illuminated the curved walls, revealing long rows of writing softened by erosion. Someone had carved so many words into the hard stone behind a waterfall.
Feng took a small step to the left wall covered with carvings. The writing was jagged, broken, as if someone struck the rock in a burst of anger and panic. He moved closer to read.
I am the Crown Prince, destined to become an emperor. Yet, my third brother has ensured I will not survive. My sons, all of them helpless children, were killed in cold blood. How can I go on living, knowing my babies were beheaded in their sleep and I have no power to seek vengeance? Today, I am at the end of my journey with my lovely wife by my side. We will not die in disgrace, labeled as traitors to fall under Li Yan’s sword. I am carving my last words into these rocks, hoping that one day, someone will find them and recognize that I am writing the truth. I did not poison my father, and I am not a traitor. I had no intention of harming anyone, and I’ve never once dreamed of becoming emperor.
My tears flow as I write this, not because death is upon us but because of what an animal he became for wealth and power. Why is he hunting me? Why did he murder my babies? Is the throne worth it?
Feng stared at the signature below.
Li Ma . . .
Li Ma was the older brother of the current emperor. He died of illness many years ago. Did he really write this?
Feng’s father once mentioned Li Yan was the younger brother of the current emperor. Very few people heard of him. The younger brother was supp
osed to have died of illness as well.
There were more words on the other side of the cave. These were chiseled in calm, elegant handwriting. Feng moved closer to read.
It took years to follow the footsteps of my dear brother, to finally find the message he left for me, and to lament his passing. Prince Li Ma was the most valiant, upright citizen of the empire. He was full of wisdom and integrity. He was a man I loved and adored, and because of his misfortune, I have undeservedly inherited the throne of the Chinese empire. I regret not being able to save his family. I regret not sending my younger brother to eternal damnation. I regret promising my father an effort toward family unity. And today, I regret not having found the Crest of Destiny.
Emperor Li Gao, fourth year of the reign of Li Gao.
Li Gao, the current emperor. Feng sucked in his breath and turned to read the words again. No one would dare sign the emperor’s name unless they wished for instant death. The emperor personally came to this cave and wrote this. Twelve years ago he was also looking for the Crest of Destiny.
Feng’s heart pounded. The emperor was seeking this symbol so many years ago, and it was on his body all along.
The Judge was after it now. For the emperor? Would the emperor kill so many to find a symbol?
Feng thought about his sister and felt even lonelier, even more helpless. He leaned over the waterfall again so the cold water could strike the back of his head and numb his thoughts. It didn’t matter now. He needed to get Ming to safety.
He twisted under the heavy mist of rushing water so his face would again face the footholds. He reached up to the first depression carved into the wall, held himself together, and pulled.
In a moment he hauled himself over the ledge of the upper cavern, throwing his tired body onto the wet rocks, barely able to catch his breath. He was soaking wet, but it felt good—clean, even. He thought of his own clothing, tailored and neatly folded in his room at home, and he began to smell the filth clinging to his skin again.
Ming!
Feng jumped to his feet. She was not on the flat surface where he placed her. He turned and took a quick step to the edge of the cavern. Perhaps she woke and jumped into the waterfall.
Feng shook his head. Her injuries were not life-threatening, but they also were not minor. She could not have jumped.
He thought he heard a cold chuckle, a man’s laughter coming from somewhere behind him. He spun around with a gasp, expecting to see someone hiding in the shallow cavern. There was no one.
Where did the laughter come from?
Then he heard it again, and he noticed for the first time a small opening on the side of the cavern. It was tall enough for a man to walk through but narrow and well hidden. The laughter came from beyond that opening. Feng searched for a weapon, uncertain whether the source of the laughter was friend or foe.
He spotted the heap of clothing abandoned by the edge of the cavern and remembered the bottle of flesh dissolver was still there. He grabbed it, tucked it into his pocket, and wrapped his naked torso with the stinking uniform he wore earlier.
Feng slipped to the side of the narrow opening, leaning ever so slightly to peer inside. Beyond the entrance was complete darkness, and he had no idea how many men were in there or what traps were prepared for him. They had Ming, so he could not smoke them out with fire, even if he had the means to start one in this barren, wet cavern.
Using the flesh dissolver would be dangerous, especially since a drop could fall on Ming when he flung the liquid. She was bruised and cut everywhere. Feng fumbled inside his pockets again, hoping to find something he could use. There was the pouch of gold his mother had given him.
Money. The greatest weapon in the world if the enemy’s intentions were clear. There was nothing left to do but walk in and hope for the best.
“I have money,” Feng said in a loud voice. “And I’m here to buy the injured girl.”
A few bold steps into the tunnel, and his palms pressed against a wall. He came to a sharp turn and heard a giggle inside.
“She means nothing to you,” Feng said, calling out again. “But I know where to get good coin for her, and I’m willing to pay upfront.”
No one responded. He turned the corner, still in complete darkness, and noticed a small, flickering light deep inside the cavern. Whoever was in there had fire.
He moved quicker, his hand gliding against the wall until he felt another sharp turn, and then he was in a small room.
A torch hung on the far wall. Ming lay on the cold floor, her clothing ripped apart, her body exposed. An old man, his gray hair scattered around him, was squatted next to her, touching her.
Feng’s eyes flashed fire, but he swallowed hard to contain himself. “I’m here to do business,” he said.
A dark grin crept onto the old man’s face like a child with an insect under his thumb that he could crush at whim. Feng clenched his elbows against his body, feeling nauseated, but he held himself together. He pulled out the pouch of coins.
“I have a hundred taels of gold,” he said. “And another four hundred outside. Sell the girl to me, and the money is all yours.”
The old man released a low, painful chuckle almost resembling a bitter cough. “You want the girl? What do you want to do with her? Bring her to your bedroom unconscious?” He suddenly jumped to his feet and darted at Feng, a shimmer of a figure, and Feng felt a stinging pain on his wrist. The pouch dropped from his hand.
Feng was prepared for this. He rushed in as if to swipe for the pouch, slipped sideways past the old man, and ran to Ming to cover her bare body. He felt a dull pain on the side of his face, and the world blackened in front of him. He could not believe what he saw. The old man had changed direction at full forward momentum, reached him at the same time he reached Ming, and slapped him across the face.
No! Feng wheezed for air and climbed back to his feet. He knew he was not the old man’s match—far from it—and there was little hope of getting Ming out alive.
“Money?” the old man asked in a low voice. “Is that all you have?”
He brought his palm down to Ming’s head. Feng screamed, diving into his strike, his own body completely covering hers. He clenched his fists and braced for impact.
The strike never came. Behind him came another low chuckle, followed by an additional spasm of painful wheezing coughs. A warm hand closed around Feng’s collar and lifted him to his feet like a man would lift a kitten.
The old man was gray, disheveled, filthy, and rugged beyond belief. He was a soul of the past, once formidable and perhaps noble, but one that had weathered daily fear and torment. One that could no longer decide when to laugh or when to cringe. Feng stared into the chaotic eyes of a madman and felt relief. Ming could still be saved.
“Old master,” Feng whispered. “I’m here to do business. But there are other buyers out there. You don’t want just anyone coming in here to do business.”
The old man’s lips drew back into a sarcastic sneer. “I’m already dead. What do I need money for?” He threw the pouch back and pulled Feng over for a closer look, then shoved him away. “You want to protect her with your skills?”
“I’m here to purchase the girl.”
“Pathetic,” the old man whispered. His figure shimmered. Feng watched his approach but froze. A stinging palm swiped across his cheek. The world spun around him. He stumbled back and slammed against the stone wall.
The old man shook his head. “And yet you’ve survived with such incompetence.”
Feng wheezed for air. He wanted to lean against the stone wall, to slide into a sitting position and close his eyes. He wanted to tell the old man it was over, that he simply wanted to die.
Something prodded him and forced him to stand firm. Perhaps it was Ming lying on the ground with her clothes pulled apart. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want to fall to an insane old man when the Judge and Zeng Xi were waging war out there against the people.
Feng took a step forward, watching every mo
vement, every intent. “Touch her again, and I will slit your throat.”
The old man smiled. “Why, are you her lover?”
“Just know I’ll kill you.”
The old man coughed once, and slowly his crooked mouth turned into a snarl. “Are you going to hurt me?”
His lean figure flashed forward again. Feng held his ground, certain his enemy wouldn’t strike to kill else his entertainment would end. The old man held his right elbow above his ribs, his balance leaning a little to the left while twisting for the strike. The right armpit was vulnerable. He could be pushed off balance to the left.
A dull pain shot through Feng’s head, and he collapsed. The old man stepped back, coughing and catching his breath. “Maybe I should teach you some basics.”
Feng climbed to his feet. “You’re only a rat in an ugly cave. What makes you good enough to teach me?”
The old man’s nostrils flared. His grin faded, and he shifted back and forth with the gaze of a patient predator. Feng leaned back. The old man most likely had lived here, perhaps without any human contact, for a very long time. If anything, Feng was his toy, and he would not kill his toy so readily. There was time to taunt the old man and discover something useful, to find a way to free Ming.
The old man suddenly lunged, a shimmer of a shadow. But Feng was ready for him. He did not see the old man’s movements, but he believed men were creatures of habit. His opponent would leave his right armpit exposed again. Without a second thought Feng slipped to the side and jabbed at the old man’s weakspot.
The old man retreated with an incredulous look on his face. He laughed once and shot forward again, this time with both hands reaching for Feng’s throat.
Feng knew defending his throat would be futile. He had one chance, and failure would mean his own death as well as Ming’s. He lurched forward, pressing his neck into his opponent’s outstretched fingers while planting a low kick into the old man’s left leg. The old man’s eyes widened again, and he leaped back to avoid being swept. Feng also slipped back and pressed himself against the cavern wall.