by JC Kang
The Tianzi descended from the carriage with the help of Ming’s cousin, imperial guard general Zheng Jiawei. With an entourage of ministers in tow, he plodded through the gates and onto the Temple grounds.
Kaiya and her brothers followed at a respectful distance. It was only two years ago, after her exploits at Wailian, that she was allowed to enter. The white marble walls followed the elliptical outline of dragon bones, with the temple itself at the far focus. It stood on a circular, three-tiered marble base. She’d played the Dragon Scale Lute on the identical base at the near focus. Father negotiated the steps to the base with some difficulty before disappearing inside the stupa.
Vibrations, strong and rapid, emanated from the tower. She’d first noticed them when she came with Prince Hardeep, but now...the frequency sounded so clear, and a slower, deeper pulse harmonized with it. How had she never noticed it before? Lord Xu said sounds changed based on their relative location; but now, no matter where she stood, the resonance sounded the same. If not for the solemnity of the rites, she would’ve raised her voice in song.
Instead, she gazed into the heavens. At exactly noon, when the iridescent moon Caiyue disappeared from the sky for a few fleeting moments as it phased to new, on this day of the Spring Equinox, the Tianzi would pray to Hua’s patron god Yang-Di for the nation’s continued prosperity.
To mark the time, the Minister of Rites struck a standing gong, which rang much louder than it should have. The Tianzi’s voice emanated from inside the stupa, sounding as awe-inspiring and powerful as she remembered from her youth.
Despite her earlier melancholy, Kaiya’s spirits rose. Every fiber of her being resonated with excitement. This would be a good year. She would make it so. Starting with a visit to sick Zheng Ming, whose villa was fairly close to the temple.
From her place behind the princess, Jie found the Tianzi’s voice pleasant, in an almost fatherly way. If her real father had ever sung to her, it might have sounded something like the Emperor’s prayer.
Why everyone else seemed genuinely enraptured by his words, Jie couldn’t fathom. She made a mental note. Give—no, proffer—a handkerchief to the princess so she could dab off the drool.
The princess’ eyes glinted with a new focus. If Jie’s experiences from two years ago were any guide, there was an idea forming in that pretty head, and thus far, nothing good had ever come of her impulses. Riding in open carriages, jumping into the fray surrounding the would-be assassin Xie Shimin, riding a horse today—the princess always got her way. It was a miracle she was still alive.
Jie watched her charge with a careful eye, recognizing a subtle fidget as the entourage departed the temple grounds.
As when they left Sun-Moon Palace, Chen Xin dropped to all fours to allow the princess to use him as a footstep to mount her horse. No sooner had she settled in the saddle did she spur her mount out of parade formation and into a fast lope.
Insane princess!
While the rest of the procession gawked, Jie pop-vaulted off Chen Xin and onto his horse. She urged it into pursuit.
Now who was insane?
Though Chen Xin’s riding had been laughable, Jie had next to no experience with a horse, the last time she’d ridden being two years ago under the similar circumstances of rescuing an impulsive princess. This impulsive princess. The gown, while modified for fighting, further hindered her questionable equestrian skills. She clutched the reins, her balance keeping her from bouncing out of the saddle and into an embarrassing—and potentially dangerous—rendezvous with the ground.
Despite her misgivings, Jie quickly got the hang of it. Luckily, the crowds of well-wishers made way for the princess, giving their horses a relatively straight path. Jie ventured a quick glance behind to see no one else giving chase. Above, the phoenixes still circled over the Temple of Heaven.
She quickly banished the wistful thoughts of riding a phoenix— that would never happen. It was up to her to protect the princess. Their direction left little doubt as to where they’d end up. There, Princess Kaiya would face a threat beyond Jie’s ability to defend.
Sure enough, the princess slowed her horse to a stop outside of the Dongmen provincial pavilion. She gingerly dismounted, and Jie followed. Her foot nearly caught in the stirrup, causing her to stumble. Her thighs burned and her rear ached, just from the ten-minute canter. Forget phoenixes. If she never rode a horse again, it would be too soon.
The princess approached the solid wooden gate. “I am here to see Young Lord Zheng Ming.”
The gate guards gaped and bowed. Perhaps they recognized her, but even if they didn’t, her regal carriage and tone commanded respect. One raised his head. “The young lord is not here right now.”
The princess raised an eyebrow. “Is he not convalescing? Open the gates.”
The guards looked among themselves, confusion creased into their brows. The same one as before bowed again. “Do you have an invitation?”
Jie snorted, only to be silenced by the princess’ glare. Jie composed her expression and stepped forward. “Princess Kaiya gave you an order.”
The guards dropped to a knee, fist down. “Dian-xia!”
One stood and rapped on the gate. A slot slid open, revealing a pair of eyes. “Princess Kaiya is here to see the young lord.” The slot snapped shut, and the guard turned back and bowed.
The gates opened at a tortoise’s pace. A middle-aged gentleman knelt at the threshold, his forehead touching the ground. “Dian-xia, please be welcome. I am the villa steward. If you would like to wait for Young Lord Zheng’s return, allow me to convey you to our teahouse.”
The princess looked at Jie, her brows furrowed, before glaring at the steward. “So he is truly not here?”
The steward’s face contorted into confusion. “No, Dian-xia. He had urgent business to attend to this morning.”
“On New Year’s Day?” the princess said.
“Yes, Dian-xia.”
The princess spun on her heel, all excitement drained from her face. She wobbled toward her horse.
Jie’s belly hollowed. Until this moment, she never empathized with a noblewoman over trivial matters of courtship. She reached her hand out, for once at a loss of words. The princess was making her soft.
The steward hurried to the princess’ side. “Dian-xia, it is not safe in the city. Please come inside the compound and I shall send a messenger to the palace.”
Ignoring him, the princess put her foot in a stirrup and climbed onto her horse.
The reality of Jie’s assignment quashed her short-lived sympathy. By now, word of Princess Kaiya’s mad dash could have reached whoever wanted her dead. They were out in the open, with no protection. She dropped to her knee, fist to the ground. “Dian-xia, please listen to the steward. You must not risk your life.”
The princess looked down from her mount, her expression forlorn. “I do not wish to be here when Zheng Ming returns.”
Jie rose and took the reins, holding firm even as the princess tugged back. “Lord Steward, please send your messenger to the palace. We will wait here.”
The princess’ eyes narrowed into a deadly glint. “Yan Jie, I command you to let go.”
Jie turned and started leading the horse into the compound.
“Let go.” The princess sang the order. Her angry voice seemed to shake the walls, and the guards dropped their spears. Even the old woman tending to a small garden down the street by the Linshan provincial villa dropped her walking staff.
Having experienced the power of the princess’ voice several times already, Jie let it ripple over her and continued walking toward the gates. Glancing over her shoulder and seeing the princess slumping in the saddle, she waved toward the wide-eyed steward. “Prepare that tea. If your young lord returns, I would suggest—”
Guards murmured and pointed. Jie followed their gazes.
Down the street, Zheng Ming rode side-by-side with a plain young woman, chatting and laughing and oblivious to the unexpected visitors ahead of him.
Hopefully, the princess hadn’t seen them. Jie hazarded a glance up.
Sitting stiffly, the princess scowled in Zheng’s direction. With a jerk of the reins out of Jie’s limp grip, she turned the horse around.
Zheng Ming looked up and brought his own horse to a stop. If his mouth hung any wider, a fist would fit in it. It was a tempting thought.
Instead, Jie could only watch as the princess set her chin and rode her horse at a walk toward Zheng. Jie scrambled to catch up.
Zheng Ming bowed his head. “Dian-xia. I...I am sorry. But it’s not what you think.”
The princess didn’t stop the horse, or even deign to acknowledge him as she rode past.
“Dian-xia. Please, let me explain.” He might as well have been talking to the Great Wall.
Jie trotted past him, casting the reproachful glare the princess was too proud to express.
As for the young woman...too much perspiration glistened on her forehead for this cool day, and up close, the smile she wore looked too contrived.
Very little surprised Liang Yu, but the turn of events in the last ten minutes reminded him of how little he could actually predict.
He had been there, pretending to weed a small garden plot at the side of the Linshan provincial villa, just to see if Young Lord Zheng had followed the instructions he provided. Little did he imagine that Zheng would bring Xie Shimin’s prospective bride back to the Dongmen provincial villa.
Even more surprising was Princess Kaiya’s unannounced visit, with a handmaiden who seemed familiar, despite the fact he had never seen a half-elf up close before. From the way the latter moved, he guessed her to be Moquan. She was probably the same one who had saved the foreign prince from Xie’s arrow the day before. Curse his old eyes.
Liang Yu looked up from under the brim of his wide straw hat, assessing. His former employer had suggested he might need to assassinate the princess if all of their other plans failed to shake up the ruling elites. Now, she made for an inviting target, guarded only by a handful of provincial guards and a Moquan hindered by a court dress. With the city on edge, he wouldn’t get a better chance to find her so unprotected.
Her death, if pinned on Madura, would ensure war. Against a Moquan and a battle-tested, champion archer, Liang Yu doubted he would live to see that war. Maybe he could have overcome them in his youth— though even then, he had been defeated and left for dead by a different elf.
He tightened his grip around his walking stick, ready to draw the blade concealed within. The smooth wood jarred the memory from just a few minutes before. The power of the princess’ voice, even from twenty-three feet away, had compelled him to drop his walking stick.
The day before, she’d also braved the chaos and fearlessly approached a would-be assassin. Perhaps the princess was not such an easy target after all. Perhaps she might be a worthy leader.
Liang Yu went back to weeding, wishing his ears had not deteriorated so much with age. What he would give to be able to hear what Zheng Ming would say once he caught up to the princess.
Zheng Ming couldn’t believe how quickly good luck could turn bad. His hands shaking on his reins, he waved toward the handmaiden’s horse. “Lord Steward, bring the other imperial stallion.”
He then turned to Li Feng, the common girl whom his friend Xie Shimin had been secretly courting. “Ms. Li, please accompany my steward into my province’s compound. You will be safe there.”
Ming took the reins of the imperial horse the handmaiden had left behind and set out in pursuit of the princess.
On horseback, it didn’t take long to catch up.
He found them in a quiet alley, where the princess leaned into her horse, one arm draped over its neck and her face in its mane. His fault. The handmaiden rested a hand in the bend of the princess’ elbow, even as her head shifted left and right.
She must’ve caught a glimpse of him peeking around the corner. Her eyes locked on his and she marched toward him. If his guards were as alert as this girl, he’d never have worry about ambushes. He stepped into the alley.
The handmaiden blocked his way. Her elven features seemed all the more exquisite in her anger. “You have done enough to ruin the princess’ New Year.”
Ming didn’t have time for a girl, even a unique one such as this. He extended an arm to push past her.
His hand never reached her.
She brushed it aside and somehow managed to stay in front of him. He used his other hand, only to find himself spun around with his arm wrenched behind his back. A shove into his shoulders sent him stumbling a few steps.
Ming spun back around, hand on his dao.
The insolent girl stepped forward, pressing herself against him, her hand on his wrist. It probably would’ve excited him had she not been so young. She grinned. “It is bad luck to draw a blade on New Year’s Day.”
Though not a superstitious man, he hesitated. It would look bad if he cut down an unarmed handmaiden. It would look worse if he were bested by an unarmed handmaiden. He raised his hands and took a step back.
She kept pressuring him backward, only stopping when they reached the main road.
“Dian-xia,” he called, craning his neck around the girl’s omnipresence. “It is not what you think. I will explain on the way to the ship tomorrow.”
He scowled down at the half-elf again. She smirked. With a turn on his heel, he stomped back to his compound.
Not far from the gates, a stooped old woman, straw hat concealing her features, stood by a garden plot next to a house. She beckoned him over, and he came to a stop, not wanting to be rude on New Year’s Day.
“Did you win your princess’ heart back?” Her voice creaked with age. “Or was she too disgusted by your womanizing?”
The impertinence! As a noble, Ming had every right to slap the old hag. Yet it was a New Year. He settled for a glare.
The eyes of his mysterious informant twinkled back at him from beneath the hat’s brim.
Ming let out a sigh. “You!”
“Why did you bring Li Feng back here? You deserve the princess’ scorn for your stupidity.”
Ming’s jaw clenched at the insult. “I will explain everything to her tomorrow.”
The man shook his head. “No, you won’t.”
“I made a promise to accompany her to Vyara City.” Ming could not believe the desperation in his voice.
“If you want her to live,” the man said, “you will have to break that promise.”
“Are you threatening her to secure my obedience?”
The man chuckled. “I already have your obedience. No, you will break your promise because in doing so, you will protect her and also come closer to exposing the perpetrator of the insurgency.”
CHAPTER 20:
Mirrors and Warnings
Twenty-year old Wang Kai-Hua looked across the table at Kaiya, Yanli, and Xiulan, all gathered for a special New Year’s game of mahjong. They played several times a month, as a pretext for sharing the latest gossip among the hereditary lords. Unlike in the opium-filled gambling dens of the city’s seedier parts, where family fortunes could be lost in a drug-induced stupor, the noble ladies typically bet favorite pieces of jewelry or clothing.
Kai-Hua sighed. She missed her father the most around the New Year. The younger brother of the Tianzi would have been fifty this year, had he not died from the sudden onset of asthma two years before. Not long after, her two brothers also perished from respiratory illnesses which even the renowned Doctor Wu couldn’t treat.
Her mother, the sister of Tai-Ming Lord Liang of Yutou Province, returned home in grief, not wanting to stay in Huajing with all the memories of her family. She’d only come to the capital once since, for Kai-Hua’s wedding to the Tai-Ming heir to Jiangzhou Province.
The Liu family, into which she’d married two years before, was full of obedient but narrow-minded men. Though she hoped her own husband Dezhen, the heir, would spend more time in his province learning how to rule better than his father, Kai-Hua w
as also happy he resided in the capital. It allowed her to frequently visit Sun-Moon Castle, where she’d grown up with Kaiya.
The atmosphere of the game room in Sun-Moon Castle felt more like a funeral than the New Year. As expected. Although she hadn’t lived in the palace for two years, she knew her cousins’ rhythms well—everyone had synced up with Yanli when she moved in two years prior. Without a doubt, another month had passed without the conception of an heir to the Dragon Throne.
Xiulan and Yanli were somber as usual. More surprising was that Kaiya, who usually helped comfort the others, seemed the most downcast. Never looking up from the square bloodwood table, she didn’t speak a word through her pursed lips. Perhaps she’d forgotten to take Doctor Wu’s herbs that month.
Kai-Hua rubbed her belly, still flat two months into her pregnancy. Even if her friends knew nothing of it, it felt wrong to try to comfort them when the Heavens had blessed her while denying the others.
Through two hours of silence, broken only by clicking mahjong tiles, Yanli won most of the games in ruthless fashion. That was not out of the ordinary, but on any other night, she would teasingly gloat after each victory.
At last, Kai-Hua pushed the tiles in. “It’s late, and Kaiya should get some rest before her journey tomorrow. Do we even need to calculate the winners and losers tonight?”
Xiulan wordlessly tossed a jade bracelet into the tiles. Kaiya added an embroidered silk kerchief.
Kai-Hua sucked in her breath. “Isn’t that a gift from Young Lord Zheng?”
Without meeting her eyes, Kaiya nodded.
“Is that why you’ve been so quiet tonight? Did he say something during the procession this morning?”
“He didn’t show.” Yanli hadn’t spoken for so long, Kai-Hua had almost forgotten what her voice sounded like.
Kaiya glared at Yanli before focusing on Kai-Hua. “He lied to me. He was with a woman.”
“Are you sure?” Kai-Hua raised an eyebrow.
“I saw them riding together.”