The Orchid Farmer's Sacrifice

by Fred Yu

  The water was low and moved slowly, but the river was wide enough that a small fishing boat would need to row twenty times to cross. All was quiet.

  Feng stood at the edge of the river, the cool air biting into his back and leaving him shaking in his own freezing sweat.

  For a long time he stared at the reflection of the moon in the flowing waters. Mister Xia said the spirits of the newly dead returned to the realm of the living at the first full moon to visit their loved ones. Would Ding or Wen or Little Chu appear by the river? He wondered if their souls, released into the spirit world by murder, would be damned to wander the earth realms for eternity until they found vengeance and closure. Perhaps if they appeared before him, he would try to convince them to move on. They died for him. Vengeance should be on his hands.

  Du had no business seeking vengeance. Maybe he could move on with his afterlife as well.

  “My father told me you would be here.” From the darkness came Ming’s voice.

  Feng turned with a smile. He didn’t feel so lonely anymore. “How did he know?”

  “Maybe he followed you.”

  Feng glanced at the edge of the forest.

  “He’s snoring by the campfire again,” she said. “He wanted me to give you this.” She handed him a small cloth book stitched with leather. Feng turned the first page to face the moonlight. He made out a string of writing followed by several lines of smaller text.

  “Yellow foxglove, bear root, sap of arcane stalk, and celestial seed?”

  “It’s the formula for the Yellow Sleeper,” Ming replied. “My father said, ‘Put an ordinary drug into the hands of a genius, and it’ll become powerful enough to destroy an army.’ He wants you to learn how to make this poison. It’s detailed on the cloth.”

  Feng turned back to the writing. “Where do I find these ingredients?”

  “They’re very common. Yellow foxglove grows everywhere. The rest can be found in any herbal store. It’s the interaction between the ingredients that makes it powerful.”

  “And the rest of the book?”

  “It’ll teach you how to use the other seven nuggets, how to modify them, how to suppress or enhance their effects, how to concoct new poisons with animal venom. This book is fundamental for every senior member of our sect.”

  Feng placed the book deep in his pockets. Ming’s complexion was glowing again, and her beauty radiated from her being with all its power and intensity. He could not help but stare.

  She smiled the sweet smile of an innocent girl, and he thought his heart stopped.

  “Where are we going tomorrow?” she asked.

  He reached out to take her hand and draw her closer. She pressed her cheeks against his so she could whisper into his ear. “My father is back. I don’t need to be the master anymore. I can go wherever you go.”

  Feng sighed. “I just want to disappear.”

  “Feng?”

  “Yes?”

  “I know your martial arts are a disgrace, but in my mind you’re a great warrior. You never give up. At least you didn’t give up on me.”

  “I can’t give up on you, Ming.”

  “You can’t give up on your father either.”

  Feng turned toward the middle of the river. A small light drifted downstream in the distance. “My father is the great General Mu. He’s brilliant. What can I do that he hasn’t already done?”

  Ming wrapped her arms around him to hold him closer. “My father said Zeng Xi is not your caliber.”

  “I don’t believe him.”

  “He also said your father is not your caliber either.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “He told me why.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “It’s because your father knows the military classics inside out, and he follows them to the letter.”

  “Exactly. My father is the greatest strategist alive.”

  “But most battle situations are new, not written by the ancients. No one ever wrote about using poison bats to frustrate an army into charging. It takes innovation. That’s why my father thinks you’re peerless out there. You can innovate every battle.”

  “I don’t have any experience,” Feng said. “My father never allowed me to fight in a real skirmish.”

  “Didn’t I tell you? You’re a privileged brat with lousy martial arts skills.”

  “I didn’t know what to do when the bandits surrounded me and my best friends. I watched as they were murdered, and I still have no clue why.”

  Ming fell silent but held him closer. She rested her cheeks against his shoulder and breathed warm air onto his neck. Feng relaxed.

  “You know it’s because of your birthmark.”

  “I don’t have magical powers, Ming.”

  “What you did against Zeng Xi’s army was pretty magical to me.”

  “I watched my sister die. I stood there like an idiot. I didn’t even move. I just stared.”

  “Your sister’s death was my mistake too. I ordered Iron Spider to stand down until we heard a weapon being drawn. I didn’t think they would execute her with no warning. I’m sorry.”

  “You—you were really going to save her?”

  “That was our bargain, remember? In exchange for the treasure.”

  “There is no treasure, Ming.”

  “Yes, there is. I have him, and I’m not letting go.”

  The small light he had earlier seen drifting down the middle of the river gradually became larger and brighter. Perhaps a fisherman had started work well before dawn.

  For a long time they held each other in a deep embrace, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally Feng released a sharp exhale and relaxed his grip.

  “You know where you’re going next?” Ming asked.

  “You said my father received an imperial edict that day—the day my sister was abducted. Afterward he marched into Mongolia.”

  “I think your emperor is out to kill the Tiger Generals. He wants the Judge in command instead.”

  “How do we know if the Judge is not a rogue force somewhere and the emperor is powerless to stop him?”

  “I thought the Chinese emperor is all powerful.”

  “I don’t know what is happening in the capital,” Feng said. “But the prime minister is an old friend of my father’s. I need to talk to him. I need to coerce some answers out of him.”

  Ming laughed. “You mean you’re not going to ask your father’s friend any sincere questions? How unusual of Commander Mu.”

  “I really don’t know who to trust anymore.”

  “You can trust me. And you can trust the Venom Sect. We’re not like your people. We only poison our enemies.”

  “It’s good to know the Chinese are your enemies.”

  Ming reached out and touched his nose with her finger. “You never have to worry.”

  “Because you’ll never hurt me?”

  “Because you’re immune to poison.”

  Feng stared at the light on the river, now approaching rapidly. “That’s not a fishing boat,” he whispered.

  Ming turned to the river. “A ship that size can only be a luxury boat for some corrupt government official.”

  “Look at the side hull.”

  “It’s shiny,” Ming said.

  “It’s armored. This boat can’t be rammed. It’s military transport.”

  “What do you think they’re transporting?”

  “Weapons? Maybe prisoners? I wonder who—”

  “Let’s go onboard and see,” Ming said. She broke free from him and ran up the bank, stopping in front of a few scattered logs—thick fallen branches that had dried months ago.

  “Wait,” Feng whispered, running after her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Don’t you want to know what they’re transporting?”

  “You’re not going onboard, Ming. I don’t approve. They’re in the middle of the river, and—”

  Ming lifted a log over her head and threw it into the middle
of the river. It dropped into the water, floated to the surface, and shifted with the current. She timed the motion and threw another log—this one deeper—and then another one, launching it close to the bank.

  Feng realized with alarm what she was doing. “Wait. There could be armed soldiers in there.”

  “If they’re so well armed, they won’t need to travel at this time of night.”

  “Maybe they’re pressed for time.”

  “Maybe they’re transporting rapid-fire crossbows for the Judge,” Ming said, throwing her final log deep into the river. The thick wooden branches, floating in a straight line but moving with the river, formed a path to the armored vessel. Ming turned back to Feng, took his hand, and drew him closer. “Must I teach you a thing or two about warfare? You can’t win without information.”

  “You’re injured, Ming. You don’t need to do this for me.”

  Ming smiled. “Are you worried I can’t handle a few soldiers?”

  “There may be more than a few.”

  She drew a large pouch from her pocket and placed it into Feng’s hand. “Here are all my throwing needles. They’re poisoned. Back me up if you’re worried.” She threw him a mischievous wink. “Not with the Yellow Sleeper.”

  She drew back her robe with a laugh and leaped toward the floating logs. Her front foot reached the first log, her weight sending it deep into the water before she vaulted off the branch with the same momentum and propelled her red figure to the next floating footrest, then the next. Each flying step was perfect in timing and precision. In a moment she was clinging onto the side rail of the vessel.

  Feng watched the slowly moving boat. The sails were down, and there were no oars in sight. Only the natural current powered the ship.

  A small light emerged inside the ship’s cabin for a moment—the light flicker of a candle. A few more appeared, equally small. They grew to the brilliance of heavy torches. “Ming!” he shouted in alarm. He knew she couldn’t hear him.

  Ming peered over the rail, unable to see the lights in the cabin, and flipped onto the deck. She turned once to Feng and waved with a smile. Feng jumped up and down, desperately motioning for her to come back to shore. She responded in alarm, spinning around to face the cabin. But it was too late. Armed men poured out, almost fifty of them, their heavy sabers drawn and ready to kill.

  Ming didn’t wait for her opponents to form their lines. She darted at the first row of men, evading their defensive swings and slipping around them. A black smoke streaked behind her, and the first line of men stumbled away from the poison fumes. She grabbed one, took his saber, and slashed her closest enemy. The armed soldiers charged all at once. When the rear lines moved past her, almost surrounding her, she slipped toward the side of the deck.

  “Ming!” Feng shouted. He leaped off the bank and onto the first floating log. It spun under his foot, and he tumbled into the river with a resounding splash. The cold water filled his nose. He scrambled in the darkness, swallowing one mouthful of water after another before climbing to the surface.

  Through blurred eyes he saw Ming hard-pressed and fighting for her life. She was clearly still injured. She moved to a narrow area on the deck between the main cabin and rails. From there her enemies could attack from her front and back, but they could not completely surround her.

  Feng crawled to shore, stabilized himself, drew a needle, and launched it with all his strength. The needle struck the river well in front of the boat. There was no way he could throw that far.

  Feng’s mind raced as he stared at the tense situation in the middle of the river. He could not board the ship, and he could not distract the soldiers from the shore. Ming had killed at least five men, and she managed to hold the rest at bay. But her movements were slower, and she was still fighting two fronts at once. She could not last forever.

  Feng picked up his sword and followed the boat from the bank while sweeping the area for ideas. Then he saw it. The river was beginning to narrow, and a short distance ahead on a small hill, a dying tree leaned over the river. The tree was tall but barren, and its roots, though partially unearthed from the wet soil, still clung to the earth. Feng drew his sword and ran toward the tree.

  Ming charged through the men at the front of the boat, launching yet another wave of poison smoke to destabilize her opponents before hacking past them. This time the powder was white. She was running out of weapons.

  Feng reached the tree and swung his sword at the roots as hard as he could, slashing through a thin cluster that seemed loose. He struck again, this time into a major root, and his sword embedded itself in the wet entanglement. He yanked it back with all his strength, glanced at Ming, and swung his sword again.

  The ship was approaching, and the sounds of battle became more and more distinct. Ming was struggling to injure her opponents now. She was barely able to fight them off enough to prevent them from hacking her to pieces.

  Feng continued to cut through the dangling tree roots. There were large chips in his damaged blade already. He wouldn’t have a weapon if he ever managed to board the ship.

  It wouldn’t matter. If he failed to take the tree down and block the river, there was no way for him to board.

  The ship was closing in. Feng grew frantic, swinging with all his might. The sword was beginning to bend. If the tree didn’t fall now, it could fall on the ship’s deck and hurt Ming. With a hoarse scream he swung with all his strength at the last chunk of roots. The blade, already twisted and bent into useless metal, was now buried in the dense gnarl of wet soil and fibrous wood. There was no time to extract the useless weapon. He glanced at the ship one more time, now less than a minute away from the hovering tree.

  Feng ran away from the tree, spun around, and charged. He leaped onto the tilted trunk and rammed the hard surface with his shoulder. He thought he heard cracks in the soil as he collapsed and landed hard on his back. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain in his body, and built distance from his target again. He launched forward with another running jump. By the third time he slammed into the tree, his bones bruised and shaken, the tree began to topple.

  The ship was approaching fast. The soldiers had Ming pressed against the front of the vessel, surrounding her on three sides. But she was still able to kill the few who came too close.

  With a roar the entire trunk collapsed into the river. Its major branches, reaching out in three directions, pressed into the riverbed and left the trunk above water. The impact forced the current back for a moment, slowing the boat, and then the onrush of water caving toward the trunk sent the ship lurching forward.

  Feng leaped onto the wide tree trunk and ran toward the center of the river. The boat was approaching him head-on, aimed to slam into the log. But he didn’t care. He drew a handful of needles, taking care to aim for the face of every soldier he targeted, and launched his missiles one after another.

  The soldiers fell into a state of panic. Most retreated to the middle of the front deck while a few ran for the back. Ming took this opportunity to attack. She slaughtered three more when the ship crashed into the log.

  Feng timed the approaching boat and leaped onto the deck, throwing every needle in his hand and crash-landing into the men he targeted. Utter chaos ensued. The soldiers scattered, losing their defensive formations and barging into each other. Many dove into the shallow waters and swam for shore.

  “I need some of them alive!” Feng shouted.

  “Barely alive,” Ming responded. She slashed through a soldier’s elbow, and he fell screaming and twisting on the floor.

  Feng withdrew to the other side of the deck, a safe distance from his enemies, to throw his needles. “I need them alive and ready to talk, not ready to scream.”

  “I’m fighting with a sword, and you’re throwing deadly poison,” Ming said. “Guess who will end up killing more?”

  Feng lowered his hands. Each man he struck with his needles fell one by one. They were screaming, writhing in agony, and clawing at their faces. Pocke
ts of blisters formed on their cheeks and around their necks. Feng took a step back in alarm.

  Ming laughed, leaped past a small group of fleeing men, circled in front of them, and spun around to intercept. With her damaged saber she ripped a grotesque gash across one soldier’s neck and pummeled what was left of her blade into another person’s belly. She took the dying man’s weapon and turned to confront the remaining survivors.

  There were at least twenty men left. Feng stood behind them, needles in hand, no longer willing to poison anyone else but nevertheless holding his posture.

  The soldiers looked at each other, then at Ming. “Red Cobra,” one of them whispered. They threw down their weapons.

  Ming shot forward, slashing a soldier across the throat.

  “Wait!” Feng shouted. “They surrendered!”

  She tore through the unarmed soldiers, slashing left and right, each stroke meant for murder. The men tried to run, but none of them had time. In a moment all but ten had fallen.

  Feng frowned. “How can you execute surrendered prisoners?”

  “How can they attack a girl fifty to one?”

  “You’re Red Cobra,” one of the men shouted. “You’re a criminal and a monster.”

  Ming spun around and ripped her saber across his hand, instantly severing four fingers. The soldier dropped to his knees, screaming.

  “Ming . . .”

  “I said, ‘Barely alive.’”

  The ship began to move with the current again, pivoting against the fallen tree and pressing the trunk with its side. Feng grabbed the ropes on the side deck and cut them into smaller strips to tie down the prisoners. They glared at him, their heads held high, their lips twisted with scorn.

  “What are you transporting?” Feng asked.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” one soldier responded, his nostrils flaring. “The Mongols are coming through the gates, and you’re stopping us from delivering supplies. The Mongols will rape our women and burn our homes, do you understand? That demon over there is a foreign woman, but you’re Chinese. How can you?”

  Feng finished strapping the last prisoner and turned toward the cabin. Ming followed with a torch. They descended a short flight of wooden steps and stood in front of a sizeable storage space.