by Fred Yu
Ever so slightly Ming began to stir.
Feng started, uncertain whether he was dreaming or whether it was really happening. Ming’s wounds had healed incredibly fast, so it was no surprise she would wake soon. His heart pounded at the thought that he could gaze into her beautiful face once more, that once again he would have the chance to escape danger with her by his side.
Ming opened her eyes, a dazed, confused expression turning to relief and joy, then sadness. She moved her arm as if to reach for him and collapsed with exhaustion. She managed a smile that told Feng she was happy to see him.
“Ming,” Feng whispered, leaning closer to her. “Don’t say anything—just listen. We’re not in immediate danger, but we’re being held hostage by a powerful old man. I need you to . . .”
Ming gasped, her hands trembling.
Feng reached out and clenched her fingers. They were cold, almost moist with sweat. “What’s wrong?”
“Are we dead?”
“Of course not,” Feng said. “You were injured fighting Zeng Xi’s army, but—”
“Then why do I see other ghosts?”
Feng followed her gaze outside the carriage window. It was pitch dark.
“There’s no one out there.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Why did you die, Feng? I held them back. How did you die?”
Feng’s mouth dropped. She fought so he could escape. He couldn’t believe she did that for him. “We’re alive, Ming,” he repeated, this time in a hoarse whisper.
Ming suddenly jumped, her body shaking. “I saw him. He’s outside.”
“Who?”
“My father’s ghost.”
“Your father?” Feng glanced outside. There was no one. “We need to get out of here before the old man comes back. Let me try to reach the harness.”
Ming clenched her fists, her voice tighter. “The Commoner killed him last year and threw him into the waterfall. He’s outside.”
“The Commoner? Your father?”
He found the strength to reach for the door and pushed it open when the old man leaped in, his filthy white hair flowing behind him.
“She’s awake! My child is awake!”
Ming was frozen, her lips quivering. She leaned back to distance herself from him. Feng observed the horror on her face at the smiling old man, and everything he wondered about the past few days made sense.
“Father?” she asked, large tears rolling down her cheeks.
The old man sneered. “Is the leader of the Venom Sect afraid of a ghost?”
“Incredible,” Feng whispered. No wonder he bandaged her wounds, raged at the suggestion of selling her for money, and protected her every step of the way.
Ming covered her face and curled into a ball, shaking.
“We’re alive, Ming,” Feng said. “And this old master is alive too. He saved us. And now I know why.”
The old man turned to Ming. “There’s a new martial arts genius in this world, and he’s my student now. I discovered him. I taught him how to throw needles. I even made him immune to poison.”
“What?” Feng asked.
The old man leaned back with a grin, pleased with himself. “Now, if anyone wants to kill you, they’ll have to stab you with hard steel.”
“Why did you do that?” Feng asked.
“I’m not going to train a genius so he can be murdered by poison one day.” He laughed once. Then, just as quickly his smile faded. He turned to Ming with rage. “You!” he shouted, pointing his finger. “What did I teach you? How did half the Venom Sect rebel against you?”
“You’re alive, Father. You’re alive!”
“I haven’t been dead that long, and you’ve already destroyed the Venom Sect.” He thought for a second, and a smile crept onto his face. “It’s only been a year, hasn’t it? One very cold winter. I snuck out to steal food from everyone’s houses all winter.”
“Then why didn’t you come home?” Ming asked.
The old man lifted a finger to his lips. “Quiet! I’m already dead. How can a dead man come home?”
“Dead people don’t need food,” Feng said. “You’re alive.”
A smile emerged on the old man’s face again. “I haven’t eaten since I took those rice cakes from the dead soldiers. That was last year.” He stared at the carriage ceiling, rocking side to side. He suddenly grabbed Feng by the belt and threw him across the cabin. Ming screamed. Feng crashed through the back doors and landed on the soft soil outside. His body jolted, and the harsh impact seemed to bring his heart to his throat. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. He thought his heart stopped.
Soon Feng felt every limb and every tendon in his body again. The weakness and fatigue all but disappeared.
“Get me something to eat!” the old man barked. “Go hunt some wild chickens! We’re on a mountain.”
Feng flexed his arms, his legs, his shoulders. He had been too weak to sit a moment ago, but somehow it disappeared.
It didn’t matter. If the old man was telling the truth about making him immune to poison, he had no intention of harming him.
Ming should be safe with the old man. He was her father. He healed her and protected her while Feng was unconscious.
He turned and headed away from the road.
Chapter 10
Later that night Feng began digging a shallow ditch next to a raging campfire. Ming had recovered her mobility, despite spending several days unconscious. She crouched beside the fire, feeding it with one thick branch after another. The intense heat didn’t seem to bother her, though her cheeks flushed a deep pink, making her skin more vibrant than ever.
Feng dug in silence. Ever since he encountered the small farm girl with the basket of herbs, the rapid-fire arrows shrieking behind him, he thought of her every moment when his mind was idle and often when his mind was not so idle. He dreamed of Ming paying attention to him, speaking to him without mockery, showing interest that was not rooted in personal gain. And now, when she finally sat down next to him, he couldn’t lift his eyes.
Feng reached into the narrow hole and scooped a handful of wet mud into his hand. He held the mountain chicken and noted its weight before smearing the mud on the feathers.
Ming peered over from the side of the campfire. “What are you doing?”
“Making chicken.”
“What kind of chicken?”
“Mud chicken.”
“But you’re going to bury the chicken,” she said. “I thought we’re going to eat it.”
“I’m going to cook it in this pit. Du tried this last year, and . . .” His voice faded at the mention of his friend.
Ming placed a hand on his shoulder. “You killed him yourself. Your sister has been avenged.”
Feng was unable to meet her gaze. “Not until I kill Zeng Xi. And this Judge. And my father—he needs to tell me why he didn’t try to save her.”
He grabbed a handful of dried twigs, snapped them in half, and tossed them into the pit.
Ming wrapped her arm around his shoulder and leaned against his body. His heart pounded so hard he thought he would die.
She whispered into his ear. “We’ll kill Zeng Xi together. And if you want this Judge dead, I’ll help you kill him too.”
Feng grabbed another handful of twigs. “I need to set a massive fire in this pit,” he said, changing the subject. “When the large branches burn to a red glow, I’ll throw in the chicken and bury it. It’ll cook in no time.”
“It’s going to taste wonderful.” Her voice was soft, gentle. She rested her head on his shoulder. “Will you cook something nice for me every day?”
“I . . . Of course, I will. I don’t know much, but—”
Ming giggled. “I want tofu.”
“Tofu? Where are we anyway?”
“My father said we traveled southeast for three days.”
“Three days by carriage?’ Feng asked. “We’re almost halfway to the capital.”
“Let’s go look for Iron Spider. S
he’ll be hiding someplace where there’s tofu.”
Feng threw in another handful of branches. “She’s really like an aunt to you, isn’t she?”
“All the elders were. I’m the youngest master of the Venom Sect ever. Now, Iron Spider is the only elder left.”
“We’ll find her, Ming. I look forward to seeing her again.”
“She’ll tell you to stop barking like a neutered dog.”
“I can’t wait.”
Ming sat back and laughed. Feng inserted the tip of a long branch into the campfire, ignited the tip, and lowered it into the pit. In a moment, hungry flames clawed toward the surface.
“Are you going to tell me about your father?” he asked.
“My father?” Ming turned to the other side of the campfire, where the old man sat by himself, his hands folded in front of him in deep meditation.
“I don’t even know his name.”
“His name is Rustam,” she replied, her voice lowered. “He was one of the more respected leaders of the Venom Sect in recent times. You can see. His mastery of the martial arts is spectacular.”
“But they resemble Chinese martial arts.”
“They are,” Ming said. “Everyone in the Venom Sect had to study martial arts when we came here, or we wouldn’t have survived. We can’t depend on poison alone.”
“He’s afraid of the Commoner,” Feng said. “Who is this Commoner?”
“I asked him not to fight the Commoner,” she said. A tear rolled down her cheek. “But he couldn’t swallow his pride. He would rather die confronting the greatest warrior in the world.” She turned to look at her father once, and her tears flowed in earnest. “I did my best. My sister and I, we ambushed the Commoner. But he’s impossible to kill. He threw my father into the waterfall, and then . . . Even with the entire Venom Sect surrounding him, the Commoner escaped. We couldn’t get him to look at anything or speak to anyone. We couldn’t even get him to stop and breathe the same air. He moved so much faster than we could throw needles. We were so useless.”
Feng took her hand, squeezed it, and reached out to brush the tears from her cheeks. “I’ve never heard of him. When all this is over, I’ll have this Commoner outlawed, and I’ll send an army after him. He can’t run from ten thousand troops in plate armor no matter how good he is.”
“Don’t go after him, Feng. He’s too dangerous. He’s already hunted by the officials, and no one has been able to stop him.”
Feng’s hands dropped. “Really?”
“You haven’t heard?” Ming asked. “You’ve been hiding in the north too long. Everyone is chasing him, searching for him. The entire Martial Society, the government—everyone is trying to make him pay for his crimes. But no one can catch him.”
The same way everyone is hunting me. Feng shook his head clear. “Why are they after him?”
“He killed a beloved magistrate,” Ming began. “Then, he killed the magistrate’s wife and her servants. They say the Commoner killed his own mentor. His mentor refused to marry his daughter to such a lowlife, so the Commoner killed him, then raped his daughter and killed her too.”
Feng frowned. “And no one can stop him?”
Ming shook her head. “I heard the heroes across the land are gathering together. I hope they kill him soon.”
“Kill who?” Rustam asked, his voice booming across the campfire. He leaped over the flames and landed in front of them. Ming leaned away from Feng and lowered her eyes, her cheeks flushed.
Rustam laughed. “Are you two fools plotting to kill the Commoner? Didn’t I tell you? He can’t be killed!”
“We were planning to kill Zeng Xi,” Ming said. “He invaded Mount Oleander, and—”
“Kill Zeng Xi in your spare time!” He pointed at Feng. “He’s not even that spoiled brat’s caliber.”
“What makes you think I can defeat Zeng Xi,” Feng asked, “with only a handful of poison needles?”
The old man shot Ming a darting glance. “This woman you’re in love with knows how to throw needles. She’s even the master of the Venom Sect. Now, why can’t she kill Zeng Xi?”
Ming looked away, unwilling to meet Feng’s gaze. Her cheeks blushed crimson red.
Feng smiled. Now it was out in the open. He was in love with her.
“Because her brain is below average!” the old man shouted. “Because she’s just like her mother. All looks and no brain!” He pointed a crooked finger at Feng. “But you’re different. Zeng Xi is no match for you.”
“Then show me how to kill him.”
Rustam reached into his pockets and drew out a wet canvas pouch. He yanked apart the withered drawstrings, reached inside for a small nugget wrapped in wax parchment, and placed it in front of Feng. He fished out another nugget, also wrapped in wax paper, then another. In a moment, eight large nuggets formed a straight line between them.
“These are eight very different poisons,” the old man said. He unwrapped the paper closest to his left, revealing a dark nugget the size of a walnut, hardened to resemble a rock. “This one can kill faster than a sword through the heart, but it must touch your enemy’s blood. The skin must be broken first.”
“It’s used in the poison needles?”
Rustam shook his head. “When you launch a shower of needles, you sometimes hit the wrong man. This poison is rare and valuable. You can’t waste a single drop killing someone else.”
“There’s no time to save someone poisoned by this,” Ming said.
“Idiot!” the old man shouted, flashing his daughter a vicious glance. “No wonder the Venom Sect has been destroyed. The leader has second thoughts about poisoning someone!” He turned back to Feng. His face flushed red, and his breathing grew heavy. He brushed his hand across the line of poison nuggets. “All seven of these kill in different ways, and you never have to reveal yourself to strike a second time. They’re all powerful formulas used by Venom Sect greats. Only the eighth one,” he said, pointing to a small, yellow nugget at the end of the line, “called the Yellow Sleeper, cannot kill. Do you understand?”
“What does it do if it cannot kill?” Feng asked.
“It makes the victim unconscious for a whole night. And it only works when swallowed. You’ll have to stab them afterward, so it’s risky.”
“I don’t understand,” Feng said, eyeing the yellow nugget. It appeared softer than the others, more like wet powder squeezed together into a lump.
Rustam laughed. “You want to know why we bother with something like that? It’s because the Yellow Sleeper dissolves perfectly in any liquid, so no one can smell or taste it. Its natural stealth makes it the most powerful poison in the arsenal.”
Feng leaned forward, drawn to the yellow lump. “It’s the most powerful item because it doesn’t kill.”
The old man grunted, uttering a light cough. “Don’t waste your genius in weakness.” He took the yellow nugget and placed it back into his pouch, scooped up the remaining seven, and handed them to Feng. “My gift to you. You can use each of them the same way. Shave off a little and dissolve it in alcohol or oil. Tomorrow I will teach you how to use them.”
Rustam leaped to his feet, crossed to the other side of the campfire, curled himself into a ball, and closed his eyes. Moments later he was snoring.
Feng weighed the seven poison nuggets in his hands, each carefully wrapped in wax parchment. Did he really want to learn this despicable art?
He wouldn’t be good enough to kill Zeng Xi otherwise. With a deep sigh he pocketed the poison nuggets.
His thoughts wandered over his situation and the predicament facing his family—and perhaps the entire empire. After a long silence he finally noticed Ming seated next to him, lost in her own thoughts. He took her hand, squeezed it for a second, and pointed to the smoking pit. The chicken was ready.
The hardened mud was caked into the feathers, and as he scraped off the dried mud, the feathers separated from the bird, exposing a clean, steaming chicken skin. Ming smiled at him. “A wealthy br
at who can also cook. I wonder why you’re not already married. Or do you have another girl out there you didn’t tell me about?”
Feng shook his head. “There is no other girl.”
“Good. Then I won’t have to hunt her down and poison her.”
* * *
When the campfire died and the moon rose high in the heavens, Feng finally fell asleep. He dreamed of a large, black dragon crushing a helpless child under its claws. A bronze-colored tiger rushed in to save the child, but it veered away at the last minute and crashed through the fortress gates instead. The heavy gates collapsed, and the Mongol hordes poured into the city. Feng thought he heard himself screaming. The Silencer has invaded! Then he saw it, the symbol on the buttocks of the bronze tiger. The symbol of the Red Crest.
Feng’s eyes flew open, and he sat up with cold sweat dripping from his brows. Ming was sound asleep a short distance away, and Rustam, still curled into a ball, was snoring.
What did it all mean? The tiger with the Red Crest opened the gates, permitting the Mongol hordes into the city. Du told him right before he died that the person with the Red Crest would let in the Mongols and destroy the Chinese empire. Was that his destiny?
Feng wiped the sweat trickling down his face and climbed to his feet. He picked up the sword lying on the ground, felt for the pouch of needles, and noted the seven poison nuggets inside. He was carrying deadly poison, and he had a natural talent for deceit. Perhaps he was becoming evil one day at a time.
So be it, he thought. There was no better weapon with which to kill Zeng Xi.
Feng gripped his forehead. He couldn’t continue to live without killing the man who ordered his sister’s execution. He would have his revenge, even if it meant becoming a master poison user.
Feng wandered away from the glowing campfire.
The prophecy, the dream, the thought of losing his grip on the honor and integrity he was raised with continued to haunt him. He wandered deep into the forest, guided by brilliant moonlight, and eventually stepped out onto the banks of a large river.