by A. H. Wang
“I suspect they would not heal like you,” I spat at the vile scum. “But if they could, then my emperor would have surely found his elixir. He could feast on their flesh, and immortality would finally be his.”
I saw fear for the first time in Hsu Fu’s eyes, and he acceded at last, telling me thus:
The elixir is real, […]
Hsu Fu’s fleet had sailed south from Shandong, in search of Penglai Mountain. On the tenth day, a fierce storm struck. The heavens and the ocean blended into one towering mass of fury, pounding and tossing the ships until they all capsized and sank to the bottom of the sea. Hsu Fu suffered a deep wound on his leg, but luck was on his side. A wooden barrel floated by and he grasped on, soon losing consciousness.
When he awoke, he saw he had landed on a beach. His wound was still oozing, the flesh now white from the brine; he thought he would surely die by nightfall. He welcomed death, for he had watched his wife and son drown in the wreckage and he could not save […]
Yet Hsu Fu woke again, and this time found himself in a cave. A fire burned bright nearby, and a dark figure hovered beside the hearth. Hsu Fu lost consciousness, awoke again, and fainted again many times over […]
[…] conjured the strength to fully awaken, he saw that the figure was a woman with long, silver hair, though her face was of a youthful beauty. Her name was Naaya. She had saved him from the beach. He looked to his injured leg, and found that the gaping wound was gone. He could not find a trace of it on his skin.
Naaya spoke of the gods, and of how they had given him a second chance to live; and at this, he knew that she was an Immortal. He knew he had at last found Penglai Mountain.
He spent many months on the isle, learning from the Immortal many healing methods. She taught him endless techniques of medicine, and yet denied him the skill to cure mortal wounds like the one he had suffered from the shipwreck.
I questioned him on the location of this isle, but he knew not its place. He had been unconscious when the tides swept him onto the beach, and when he left it was on a ship navigated by the Immortal’s servants. Naaya had besought him to go to Wo, for his destiny lay there, and he was to bring the gift of medicine […]
Hsu Fu may know not its location, but he knew that Naaya’s servants had sailed north towards Wo, reaching land after two weeks’ journey. He said that the legends are true: Penglai is but one of the isles on which the Immortals live. There are also two others, Yingzhou and Fanzhang. Penglai is the largest, filled with medicinal trees and herbs. The other two isles are smaller, rockier, and abundant in beautiful, giant caves for the Immortals’ residence.
Ire frothed in my veins, for this told me not the way to the isles, nor the means to identify them. Finally, he drew a picture and told me thus: the island of Yingzhou is the smallest, and the most peculiar. It has two peaks on either side of the isle, and flatness in between, as if the gods had gouged a hollow in the mountain. On top of the smaller peak stands a vertical rock, a pinnacle seemingly placed there with intent. The larger peak slopes upwards from the west, with a sharp and crescent descent from the apex to the east.
This, he said, was the way to identify Penglai Mountain.
I trust this is pleasing news for your majesty. By your leave I shall take Hsu Fu and what is left of my troops to sail for the isles. The green-eyed alchemist warns me of fire-spewing sea monsters, but we have come prepared with archers. On the morrow I shall travel south and find the elixir that my emperor longs for.
Your most loyal and undeserving servant,
Wang Jian
6
Georgia frowns at the elaborate Chinese archway towering over her, taking in its gaudy yellow tiles complemented with painted decorations of bright blue, red, and green. Across the top of the archway, a large sign with yellow kanji characters reads: JOFUKU PARK.
She’s not entirely sure how, or why, she has decided to come here.
Earlier this morning, after deciphering the Hata scroll and reading through Wang Jian’s description of Hsu Fu’s capture and interrogation, she felt so bewildered she needed to get out of the hotel room for some fresh air. The scientist in her in revolt, she desperately needed space to think. So she put on her running shoes and jogged aimlessly through the suburban streets at a leisurely pace, enjoying the cherry blossoms whilst turning the puzzle over in her mind again and again. By the time she ended up here at the Jofuku Park, the running app on her phone showed that she’d traversed over six kilometres.
Walking through the archway, she sees that Jofuku Park is really no more than a quaint little garden with a souvenir and ice-cream shop to the right, and a small toilet block beyond that. The ‘park’ consists of little more than a fish pond, a few trees and well-kept bushes, and a concrete sculpture of a plump, smiley Hsu Fu dressed in full-length robe with his hands clasped before him, greeting all visitors to the park.
Not exactly awe-inspiring, but Georgia finds herself wandering in and sitting down on the bench facing the statue of the man who has plagued her mind since she left Sydney.
There is a sign beside Hsu Fu, describing the legend of how he may have come to Japan, and how he’d allegedly discovered the tendaiuyaku tree. Even though the plant does not grant eternal life, locals believe it aids kidney diseases and rheumatism, and the city of Shingu has planted several of the bushes in the park.
Her phone buzzes in her pocket, the ringtone breaking through the tranquillity of the garden. She picks it up when she sees the caller ID.
“Hello, Hank.”
“Hi, Georgia,” Hank says, excitement lacing his soft voice. “I’ve just read your email.” He pauses to let the words sink in.
“Yeah.” She draws a deep breath, tugging at the end of her long braid. “I’ve managed to recover most of the missing text. It took a while, but it worked. Some sections are very badly damaged, but what I’ve salvaged is still pretty revealing. As you can see in the translated version I sent you, what Akiko’s got there is just about mind-blowing. And to tell the truth—it’s a little hard to digest.” She swallows. “Do you know if Mark has tried to persuade her for an authentication process?”
“He has, but she wouldn’t agree to it. You have to understand that the Hata family is very private about this, and they’ve only agreed to show it to you as a personal favour to Mr. Lambert. We’ve been told that under no circumstances is the scroll to leave the possession of the Hata family,” Hank explains.
Georgia already suspects this is the case, and from what she can gather, the artefact appears to be genuine. Even so, there is so much more she could find out if only the scroll could be properly examined in the laboratory at her university. She can’t think of any reason why the Hata, a well-known and respected aristocratic family, would want to fabricate something like this. It doesn’t serve them at all. Besides, Akiko Hata has already dropped the subtle hint that she would deny the existence of the document if Georgia were to make her findings public.
“This is an amazing breakthrough, Georgia.” Hank continues, “Mr. Lambert is very pleased with your progress. He’d like to know what your next steps are?”
“Well, I—” she falters. She hasn’t yet thought that far, she’s still processing her own disbelief and shock from the discovery. “I guess the drawing of the island is about all we’ve got to go on—which, to be honest, is not much at all. I can run a search on known islands south of Japan, and see if we come up with anything.”
“Great. Let me know if you make any headway with it,” Hank says. “As Mr. Lambert has said, anything you need will be at your disposal.” He pauses. “Oh, and Georgia?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful with the information you’ve got. I wouldn’t go around showing it to just anyone,” he warns.
“Yeah... Sure.”
She stares at her phone for a moment after she hangs up, dumbfounded by the absurdity of it all. It appears she is now truly on a hunt for Emperor Qin’s elixir. Before she visited Akiko Hata, she was sure that by today s
he’d be on the plane heading home, having discovered nothing worthy of investigation. Instead, she has found herself searching for the mythical Penglai Mountain.
She brings up the photos of the Hata scroll again on her phone, frowning down at the drawing Hsu Fu made. Geographically, the smaller island certainly is a peculiar formation, and something about the crescent descent from the apex seems familiar to her. She’s sure she has seen that shape somewhere else before, but conjuring up the memory is like grasping for an elusive, fleeting scent that is just beyond her reach.
According to Chinese folklore, Penglai Mountain was on an island in the eastern region of the Bohai Sea, where the Eight Immortals lived. Each of the Immortals possessed a special divine power, and a talisman that could give life or destroy evil. In the legends, everything on Penglai was white. It was a land of happiness and pleasure; the plates were always filled with food and the glasses with wine, and there were also special fruits growing in the trees that could heal any disease and grant eternal life.
An enticing description, especially for an emperor who was on the brink of death.
She has already previously checked on the maps and deduced that there is nothing due south of Shingu: just the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean and the Ryukyu Islands to the south west. But it would have taken much longer than a mere two-week sail to get to Ryukyu, especially for a boat from the days of rudimentary seafaring techniques.
She ruffles her hair, unsure of what to make of all of this.
Something is not right.
She feels as if someone is playing a trick on her.
The short, stocky man stands behind the archway, watching the professor as she looks at something on her phone with great concentration. She is sitting on the bench with her back turned to him, her long black hair in a braid down the length of her spine.
She seems perplexed. Frustrated. It appears this little treasure hunt that Lambert has given her has now fully captured her interest. Not an easy task, for the eminent professor is one sharp woman, and it takes a complex puzzle to entice her.
The man smiles, scratching his goatee out of habit, feeling the deep scar that extends from his right ear down to the chin, partially hidden by the facial hair. A warm sense of joy fills the cavity of his chest, and he almost chuckles with elation.
The wheels have been set in motion, and now it’s only a matter of time. Like the good hunter he is, all he has to do now is wait. And after years of training, patience is something he has plenty of.
He rubs his bare scalp, feeling the stubble of regrowth from the closely shaved head. He wonders how long it’ll take before she figures out the location of the islands.
Not long, most likely. With her photographic memory and an impressive track record, it can’t possibly take much longer.
7
Georgia opened her eyes, feeling utterly exhausted. Blinking slowly, she felt as if something was grating against the surface of her eyeballs. She fought against the urge to go back to sleep, pushing herself up from the hospital bed to stretch out her stiff back.
She let out a silent yawn and looked over to the bed, seeing that Jacqui was still asleep, her little chest moving rapidly under the thin blanket. Georgia’s heart clenched at the sight of her daughter’s pale blue lips.
“How’s our little girl doing?” Lucas whispered as he walked into the room, holding two disposable cups in his hands.
“Okay, I think. Same,” replied Georgia, accepting one of the drinks gratefully.
They sipped the bitter cafeteria coffee, a cavity of silence between them. Her mind drifted back to their conversation with Dr. Rennard, and a torrent of emotions swelled in her chest.
Eisenmenger Syndrome, he’d called it. A condition created by a congenital heart defect that causes pulmonary hypertension.
In layman’s terms, she had given her baby girl an incomplete heart, a heart with a hole in it. Now the poor little organ was struggling to deliver enough oxygen to Jacqui’s blood, causing her skin to appear pale and greyish all over.
Georgia’s eyes began to water.
Even before Dr. Rennard had given his verdict, she’d known the prognosis was not good. Still, it was the very last thing Georgia had wanted to hear. It had taken her and Lucas so many years of trying, of praying and wishing for this child, and they were overjoyed when she’d finally arrived. Jacqui was their miracle baby. But their happiness was short-lived: Jacqui had barely turned two when the doctors gave them the bad news.
Two years was not enough. It just wasn’t. Little Jacqui was meant to grow up to become a beautiful woman, have a life of her own, and watch her parents grow old and grey together. She was meant to outlive them, not the other way around.
Georgia dropped her head in her hands, taking slow, deep breaths to will away the tears. She couldn’t break down: not here, not now. Sensing that Lucas had moved closer, she straightened before he had a chance to touch her.
“I’m fine,” she said, almost in defiance—not intended towards him but at the suffocating despair that threatened to overcome her. The chill in her voice surprised even herself, and she regretted it as soon as the words were uttered, for Lucas flinched as if she’d slapped him. Retrieving his outstretched hand, he stepped back and repositioned himself in his chair. Georgia thought to apologise, but could not find the words.
A silence, awkward and strained, stretched between them.
“I’ve spoken with the doctor,” Lucas finally said. “They’re looking into organ transplant options.”
She nodded, numb. She wasn’t sure if she was grateful, or irritated, at his attempt to give her hope despite the direness of the situation.
“Momma.” Jacqui’s eyes opened suddenly, and their attention both zeroed in on her. Georgia reached out, grasping her little girl’s hand, instantly appalled at how cold it was.
“Yes, sweetie, Mummy is here.”
“Momma.” Jacqui repeated as if she hadn’t heard Georgia, and then she began to cough violently. Her eyes wide with panic, she gripped harder.
“Momma!” She spluttered as blood appeared on her lips, tiny sprays of red staining the white hospital sheets.
She wakes with a start, her breath short and rasping. Finally realising it was a dream, Georgia closes her eyes again and lets out a deep sigh.
Images of Jacqui linger, at all ages and moods, shifting in and out of the darkness. Her eyes well up, the emotions like a wild beast gnawing at her, threatening to burst through the gates. She draws a few deep, tremulous breaths, wrestling the creature back into the deep recesses of her heart.
It takes Georgia a moment to remember where she is. The dark hotel room is bathed in a flashing blue and red glow, the sound of the morning news channel droning on in the background.
The phone next to her suddenly shrieks, piercing her ears. Georgia groans, suppressing a need to hurl it against the wall. She answers it instead when she sees the caller ID.
“Hello.” Her voice comes out as a hoarse whisper.
“Georgia? Are you okay?” Sarah asks, already knowing that something is amiss.
“Yeah.” Georgia clears her throat. “You woke me up is all.”
There is an audible pause on the other end of the phone. Then, Sarah says, “You were having the same dreams again, weren’t you?”
Georgia sighs and flops a forearm over her closed eyes, thinking that Sarah’s kids would probably make excellent spies if they’ve ever managed to keep any secrets from her.
“Sorry. Want me to call back later?” Sarah offers.
“No. It’s fine,” replies Georgia. She could use a second opinion on everything she has uncovered so far.
Sitting up, she starts chatting to her assistant, catching up on Kate and Michael’s progress in China and her other students’ projects at home. Of course, Sarah also slips in a bit of departmental gossip, office politics, and the latest rumours of who will be keeping their jobs despite the funding cut, and others who may not be so lucky.
�
�So, I told you my lot, now you tell me yours,” Sarah says after her lengthy report. “How is Japan? Did you see any cherry blossoms?”
“Well… it’s not what I expected,” Georgia replies. Her eyes trail to photographs of the scroll scattered over the bed, evidence of her obsessions last night. Wang Jian’s drawing of the island lies before her, taunting her with the fleeting sense of recognition. That shape… she knows she’s seen it somewhere, and yet the memory evades her.
With Sarah as a rapt audience, Georgia begins to describe in detail her meeting with Akiko Hata, the scroll that was shown to her, and everything it revealed. A long silence ensues when Georgia finishes her tale.
“Fuck me,” Sarah mutters. “So Wang Jian did find Hsu Fu in Japan.”
Georgia smiles at the expletive. For someone of Sarah’s generation, she’s got an extremely filthy mouth. Sarah attributes it to her love of American movies, especially the Tarantino kind. If she’s not at work, she is generally glued to Netflix at home.
“That’s what it said in the letter, yes,” replies Georgia.
“Do you think the letter ever reached Qin?” Sarah asks.
“It was dated in the month of Hai, which was around November in 210 BCE. Qin had died by then—two months prior,” she replies.
“And Wang Jian wouldn’t have known about Qin’s death then,” Sarah points out. “No one did.”
Georgia murmurs her agreement. In September 210 BCE, Emperor Qin died during his travels to Eastern China, about two months away by road from the capital, Xianyang. The prime minister who accompanied him, Li Si, was worried Qin’s death would start an uprising in the empire, so he decided to conceal the news until they returned to the capital. It is said most of the imperial entourage had been ignorant of the emperor’s demise. Li Si had ordered two carts of rotten fish to be carried before and after Qin’s wagon, to hide the foul smell emanating from the decomposing body. Eventually, after returning to Xianyang months later, news of the emperor’s death was finally announced.