“Here we are,” the cab driver says. “Broadway and Grant. You staying here at nice hotel on corner or have other address you want me to take you to?”
“We’ll be staying here,” Mom says. “Thank you.”
She pays with her credit card, we retrieve our luggage, and we walk toward a small hotel sandwiched between an optometrist shop and a boutique.
“Well… Here we are,” Mom says.
“Yeah. Here we are.”
“Let’s check in. After that we’ll find some place to eat.”
I’m all for the eating idea. My stomach is growling. We walk through a set of arched doors into a well-lit lobby, and Mom goes to the front desk, leaving me to examine our surroundings.
Polished floor tiles, brown and gold accents, a few oriental paintings to remind me I’m in Chinatown. I stare at the front desk and feel a sense of déjà vu. An oriental wood screen separates one corner of the desk from the rest of the lobby. It vaguely reminds me of the bamboo screen in Jade’s Pagoda of Sublime Enlightenment.
Mom steps away from the counter and motions toward the elevators. I’m still feeling unsettled when the elevator’s doors close behind us.
“We’re on the third floor,” Mom says. “We’ll relax a few minutes while I check the phone book for restaurants. What are you in the mood for? Italian? American? Chinese?”
“Chinese sounds good,” I say. “It would be weird to go American or Italian.”
She nods and smiles. “Very weird,” she agrees.
Our room is large and has two double beds. I set my bag on a chair near the window and collapse atop the nearest bed. Still no texts from Lily, but we’ve got a large-screen television. I look over a laminated card with channel listings but drop it when a horrendous screech and bang shatter the air.
I reach the window first. It overlooks the street corner where our cab driver dropped us off. In front of a Chinese restaurant, a tan BMW has wrapped itself around a street light. Glass glitters on the sidewalk and steam billows from the car’s crumpled hood. The driver bats aside billowing airbags and tumbles out the passenger door. He straightens his straw hat, peers up at our window, and I take a step backward, stomach clenching.
“What’s going on out there?” Mom asks, trying to get a look through the other window. She surveys the street and answers her own question. “Drunk driver.”
I risk another peek. A small crowd is already gathering around the battered automobile, but the driver is nowhere in sight.
I replay what I saw: the eerily familiar face from the airport, the filthy clothing, the crazed dark eyes. He followed us here. Why? And what was he doing in an expensive B-mer?
This is no coincidence. The universe is too big for coincidences like this.
ELEVEN
十一
JADE
“Advanced art classes? You?”
Lily gapes at me, incredulous.
“What I mean is… Not that your artwork isn’t…”
“It’s all right,” I say. “We both know my art skills are…lacking. But Master Ning thinks I have potential. Apparently Mistress Song does, too.”
“So that’s the only reason he summoned you to the Pagoda of Reason? For art classes?”
I nod, and Lily looks disappointed.
“I was hoping it was something more mysterious and important,” she says. “Like…like…secret Amplitude training or something.”
I stiffen but relax again when her laughter indicates she was joking.
“That would be frightening,” I whisper. “To do something forbidden like that.”
“Maybe. But I would jump at the chance if I had it. The Dikang trains girls. They encourage girls to develop their amplitudes.”
“How do you know that?”
“My father heard it somewhere,” Lily says vaguely. “But we probably shouldn’t be discussing rebels. Not with so many Imperial officials still snooping around.”
I nod and force a smile.
Her comment has reminded me about the terrible risk I’m taking. If I’m discovered, I could be put to death. So why am I doing it? I don’t know, but it’s comforting to consider that girls somewhere else might be receiving the same kind of training.
I wonder if Master Ning and Mistress Song have something to do with the Dikang. But after I’ve considered the thought, I dismiss it. They wouldn’t have been so surprised about the bomb attack if they were a part of it. There must be some other reason why they want to train me.
Lily and I walk in silence until we’ve passed the towering Eternal Emperor statue that guards the art pagoda’s footpath. The Emperor stands in a fountain pool atop a ring of marble fish. Cool spray drifts across our faces, and I find myself wanting to stop to drowsily enjoy the morning’s warm sunshine.
Unfortunately, there’s no time for small luxuries like this. Our first class begins in only a few minutes. I follow Lily up the art pagoda’s green steps, and we’re the last two to take our places. Mistress Song and three volunteers—Ivy, Lark, and Ruby—are already handing out grid paper, ink stones, and brushes.
We kneel at the back near the art display screen—three bi-fold wooden frames upholstered with black velvet panels. That’s where Lily notices my hummingbird sketch.
“You drew that?”
I see the picture with my stamp in its corner and my mouth drops open.
The stamp is definitely mine, the sketch familiar, but the image seems far too beautiful to be a product of my clumsy hands. Two ruby-throated hummingbirds dance around a cluster of cherry blossoms. Their wings appear to move in a gentle blur. Someone, to create a vibrant focal point, has added red blush beneath their slender beaks, but the rest of the work is mine.
“One lesson?” Lily asks.
“Mistress Song is a very good teacher.”
No teacher is that good, and Lily knows it.
She scowls, looks back and forth between the picture and me, and I avoid her gaze by pretending to examine the sketch’s shading and strokes. I remember making these marks. I just don’t remember the final product looking like…like…this.
Lily doesn’t have time to dwell on the mystery because Mistress Song has finished handing out the ink stones and is now telling us to prepare them. We add a little water to the stones’ shallow wells and grind our ink sticks into paste. Ruby hands Lily and me our sheets of paper as Mistress Song lightly claps her hands to get the class’s attention.
“Today’s assignment,” she says, “is to write a poem in Hsin style calligraphy. Your poems must be at least three lines long and extol one of the Eternal Emperor’s Twenty Glorious Virtues.”
She looks up and down each row, waiting for questions. When no one stands with head bowed, she gives a graceful twist of her wrist to signal we should begin.
The Twenty Glorious Virtues. We were required to memorize the list and quote it verbatim as part of our first year tests. The list is still burned into my cranium. The Eternal Emperor is just, merciful, benevolent, wise…
I wonder if the Emperor made the list himself. If so, a second list should be composed to stand beside the first. The Eternal Emperor’s Twenty Flaws. Pompous, cruel, arrogant, iron-fisted…
I could be punished for such thoughts. Fortunately no one here can read my mind.
“Student Jade. Is this assignment too difficult for you?”
I look up at Mistress Song. I didn’t realize she was standing so near to me.
“No, honorable teacher. I can’t decide which virtue to praise.”
“I would suggest Virtue Number Sixteen—all-seeing.”
I bow my head.
“Yes, Mistress Song. Thank you.”
She continues down the row.
I dip my brush into my pasty blue-black ink and carefully form the strokes for my characters. All-seeing. Why would she suggest that trait? I remember yesterday evening’s unseen watcher and involuntarily lift my eyes. I stare at the window and shudder.
This morning the carved wooden screen
doesn’t look so threatening. Golden sunlight filters through its gaps. No shadowy figures lurk outside the pagoda today, but I feel other eyes watching and turn to see Opal staring at me. She scowls, angry at being caught, but turns the scowl into a dismissive sneer before looking away.
Why does she care what I’m doing? Why am I important enough to constantly draw her attention? I’m also drawing Mistress Song’s attention. She’s frowning at me. Maybe she’s wondering if I’ll ever be focused enough to grasp advanced amplitude techniques.
I try to focus on my poem but end up glancing at Lily’s paper to see how she’s doing. She has already finished her first line. Her calligraphy is beautiful. Fluid strokes. Expressive technique. She doesn’t need “advanced” training to make her work beautiful. It comes naturally to Lily. She sees me admiring her efforts and self-consciously shields her paper with one hand.
“My poetry is awful.”
“No one will notice,” I say. “They’ll be too busy admiring the calligraphy.”
“It isn’t as good as your hummingbirds.”
“It’s better,” I say.
“Not really, but thank you for the compliment.”
She uncovers her paper.
“I’m doing Virtue Number Twelve,” she whispers. “Munificent.”
“What does that word even mean?”
“Something about generosity, I think.”
“So what will you say about the Emperor’s generous nature?”
“I haven’t gotten past ‘The Eternal Emperor is munificent.’ I don’t really know what I’ll say next. Do you have any ideas?”
I shrug. “I’m still trying to figure out how to make ‘all-seeing’ sound like something virtuous.”
Lily grins. “At least ‘all-seeing’ actually describes him. He has spies and informants everywhere.”
“I can’t put that in my poem. We’re supposed to be making him sound good.”
“How do you make him sound good,” Lily asks, “when you believe his soul is painted with blackest evil?”
My jaw drops. Lily is known for her bluntness, but even she has never dared say something like this.
“Students Lily and Jade.”
Mistress Song’s normally soft voice rings sharply across the pagoda. Other students interrupt their quiet conversations to stare in alarm, first at her then at us.
“Don’t you have poems to complete?”
We meekly nod and return our attention to our assignments. How did she hear us? She can’t read minds, can she? Some say the Emperor can, but I’ve always hoped that’s a frightening myth created by the Emperor to keep his subjects in check.
Halfway through the assignment, class draws to a close and Mistress Song commands us to turn in our assignments and clean our ink stones and brushes at the wash basin. During the chaos of frenzied activity, Mistress Song glides up to whisper in my ear.
“You will go to your next class. You will pretend to be ill and proceed directly to the infirmary.”
I nod. She moves away and doesn’t look back.
Am I in trouble? Have I angered her? I take my turn at the granite cleaning basin, an anxious knot forming in my gut as I squeeze ink out of my brush. Hopefully I haven’t done something to change Mistress Song’s and Master Ning’s minds about giving me amplitude training.
TWELVE
十二
JENNA
Yeye’s apartment could make a gopher feel claustrophobic. Oriental vases, bronze statuettes, old books, and knick-knacks in all imaginable shapes and sizes crowd every available square inch. Apparently Yeye likes to collect stuff.
“Jenna!”
Grandpa Lee enfolds me in a huge embrace as I step through the door.
“You’ve grown so much since I last saw you. Look at you now. You’ve blossomed into a beautiful young woman!”
I feel my face grow warm. This reunion is already awkward enough without unexpected hugs. I haven’t seen Grandpa Lee in over five years. It’s almost like meeting a stranger.
Mom looks visibly awkward when he turns to embrace her. I don’t know what happened between them, but Grandpa Lee acts like it’s water under the bridge.
“How is Yeye doing?” Mom asks.
“The doctor says he’ll probably only last a few more days. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he clings to life for several weeks. You know how stubborn he is. A little like a daughter I know.”
Mom’s jaw tightens. She waits a moment to compose herself before speaking again.
“Can I see him?”
“Of course. But don’t be surprised if he doesn’t recognize you. His memory is failing, and it’s been years since he last saw you.”
Mom bites her lower lip, steps past Grandpa, and moves toward a dark hallway where the clutter thins out. I follow her across the threadbare carpet to Yeye’s bedroom.
I don’t know what it is about old people’s houses; they always smell like mildewed cabbage. There’s another odor here as well, the musty scent I remember from the scrolls in Master Ning’s library.
Mom quietly opens the bedroom door and peeks in.
“Nei hou, Yeye. Are you feeling up to a couple of visitors?”
A weak voice mumbles something in another language.
Mom hesitantly steps into the room, and I follow. Lying in a large teak bed is the thinnest, most ancient-looking person I’ve ever seen. Yeye has more wrinkles than a dried prune, and his nearly bald head is speckled with liver-spots. His eyes are partially clouded by cataracts, and he squints to see us as we approach.
“Do you remember me?” Mom asks. “I’m your granddaughter. Emily.”
“Siu wudip.”
Mom’s face turns pink.
“Yes. Your little butterfly.”
I stifle a grin. Mom avoids my gaze and pulls a rickety high-backed chair next to the bed. When Yeye reaches toward her, she tenderly clasps his shriveled hand.
“I’ve brought Jenna with me,” she says. “Do you remember her?”
Yeye turns his misty eyes my direction and parts his lips in a mostly toothless smile.
“Juk Faa…” he whispers.
“That’s right. You used to call her ‘Jade Blossom.’”
Jade Blossom?
I feel a cold chill go up my back.
I shuffle toward the door, but Yeye stops me with a gesturing hand. After a violent coughing fit, he lifts the frail hand and beckons me toward him.
I hesitate, but Mom nods at me and I reluctantly approach the bed. Yeye mumbles something incomprehensible—again in Cantonese—and peers at me with his cataract-clouded eyes.
“He says he wants to give you a gift.”
Yeye speaks and gestures toward a two-drawer dresser. Mom removes a small box from the top drawer and delivers it to him. I examine the box as he cradles it in his withered hands. It’s upholstered in jade-green fabric with a cherry blossom print. Tiny hummingbirds, disturbed by Yeye’s trembling fingers, flit between the snow-white blossoms.
Yeye lifts the hinged lid and moves the box toward me.
“Take,” he whispers.
I do as I’m told and look inside.
“Oh!” I quietly exclaim.
The box holds a small jade pendant intricately carved into a wavy dragon. Stone sinew and muscles ripple beneath tiny scales, and whiskery tendrils flow from a fierce bearded head. Between the two front talons, I see a carefully sculpted character: 水.
“Shui,” I whisper. “The Fifth Amplitude.”
“What did you say?” Mom asks.
“I…uh…nothing.”
Mom looks at me with a confused scowl—the same look I saw on her face at the airport—but, whatever it is, she’s distracted by Yeye before she can figure it out.
“Very old,” he says. “Strong protection.”
He hacks and wheezes for several seconds then wipes the spittle from his mouth and shakily points to my throat.
“You wear it always, Jade Blossom. It will keep you safe.”
I
remove the pendant from the box and fasten its braided leather cord around my neck. Yeye smiles approvingly.
“It’s a beautiful gift,” I say. “Thank you.”
I follow the ‘thank you’ with a bow.
“Dojeh,” Mom says to Yeye. I assume she’s thanking him, too. She and Yeye begin a quiet conversation in Cantonese, and I shuffle backward again.
I never knew Mom could speak Cantonese. I have the funny feeling there are a lot of things about her I don’t know.
An empty armchair lurks in the room’s far corner, and I sidle over to it. It’s plush and comfortable although a little dusty. An antique lamp table stands beside it, and a large water-stained book with a black fabric cover rests on the tabletop. Mom and Yeye look like they’ll be talking awhile, so I transfer the old tome to my lap and open it, listening to its cover crackle. The book’s pages are so brittle I’m almost afraid to touch them, but my eyes fall on the title page and I forget about the potential of damaging it.
Chinese Alchemy
Translations of the Ancient Writings of Xu Fu
I freeze. I thought Xu Fu was fiction—a legend. Apparently not.
I glance toward Yeye’s bed. He and Mom don’t even remember I’m in the room, so I open to a random page and start reading.
The secret of immortality is inextricably bound to the mastery of the five mutable elements: earth, metal, wood, fire, and water. These elements or, more appropriately, fluctuating energy states, when properly channeled become the much sought after “elixir” of life. Key to the process is the fifth state, shui, which binds and focuses all the others.
I read it three more times. My heart pounds and my forehead perspires. Five energy states. Five amplitudes. The Fifth Amplitude is the key to eternal life. This is the same stuff Master Ning was telling Jade in my dream.
Beneath the passage, the translator has printed a diagram depicting five Chinese characters surrounding an odd geometric shape: a large circle around a triangle enclosing a square and another circle.
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