by Cindy Pon
“No. We ate plenty of fish in our family, but I never have. How about you?”
“Only once or twice with my father, at the small lake outside our town. But we used a fishing rod.”
Something tugged at her line. “I think I’ve got something!”
“Reel her in!” Tien An mimed the motion.
Ai Ling pulled the thin line hand over hand, feeling the resistance. The boys jumped up and down on their wooden boxes as Chen Yong laughed, and she felt his breath against her ear. Her arms prickled. The line bit into her hands.
“Is it a big one?” Tien An asked.
She kept her eyes on the water. The sea blazed, as if the sun had dived into it. She blinked; the endless sea had changed into a small lake. Ai Ling saw the bank on the far side and a thick grove of trees. She was barefoot, her toes dug into the wet, cold mud. Her arms were sore; her hands, raw. Suddenly her catch erupted from the surface. She swung her arm in one swift motion, just as her sister had taught her. The catfish landed on the bank, flopping in the dirt.
“Great job, Zhong Ye!” His eldest sister patted him on the head. “Not bad for eight years.”
His older brother eyed the fish, as it gasped its last breaths. “It won’t even feed two of us.” He prodded it with a toe.
“Leave it!” Zhong Ye said. He removed the hook from the fish’s mouth and placed the fish in the net he had brought. “It’s for Mother,” he declared proudly, swiping a sticky arm over his forehead.
“Bring her up!” Tien An was shouting.
Ai Ling squinted against the sunlight, stunned and disoriented. Tien An swung his arm in an arc to demonstrate. She stared at him, uncomprehending.
Then Chen Yong was behind her, clasping her hands in his, lifting the fish out of the water with one sweeping motion, guiding her arm with his own. She leaned into him, as fragmented memories rushed through her: her sister gripping her shoulder on the long walk home, her mother frying the catfish in scallions, ginger, and red chili, having to till the field days after with hands cut raw from the line…No. Not her memories.
A large sea bass bounced on deck, and the boys leaped from their crates, having wound in their own lines. They danced around the writhing fish like warriors after a bloody hunt. Their whooping and giggling brought a few crew members over to admire the catch.
Tien An unhooked the bass and threw it into the basket Lao Lu had brought. “We’ll eat well tonight, friends!”
“It’s for Mother,” Ai Ling whispered.
Chen Yong glanced at her questioningly. She stepped away from him, clutching herself for warmth, despite the hot sun burning overhead.
They had pored over the same passages for hours, until the characters began to squirm and merge before Zhong Ye’s tired eyes. “And you are certain there is no other meaning for this word?” Yokan asked. “Does it sound like any province you know?”
Zhong Ye brought the lantern closer to The Book of the Dead and forced himself to focus:
Rising high, path to the moon
Plunging low to catch its glow
Water must glide
Not too heavy or too light
Search for her when dark then bright
Yokan pounded a fist on the blackwood table, and the lantern bounced from the force of it. “It’s nonsense! Drivel!”
“This book is a compilation of many things: children’s rhymes, stories passed on from the wise monk to travelers, studies and observations conducted by scholars, and from those who pursued the dark arts. There is meaning here; we just need to understand how to extract it.” Zhong Ye wondered what time it was. They had eaten a light dinner together hours ago. “A place with hills and valleys obviously. Where it rains. That rules out the deserts and the flatlands,” he said.
“We need more clues. There must be enough for us to pinpoint the location. Without it, our task is futile,” Yokan said.
Zhong Ye muttered the rest of the children’s rhyme:
Only in darkness can she grow
On hands and knees, not far below
Every few years, come take your claim
Wait for the extra moon then dark again
The rhyme seemed to contradict itself. They were more than halfway through the book. Would they ever solve the riddle?
Mei Gui was beginning to flesh out around the hips, and her breasts looked fuller. Zhong Ye studied her with an analytical eye. The concubine emanated a serene contentment as she gazed into the bronzed mirror, one hand over her midriff.
Silver Phoenix sat her mistress down at the dressing table and began braiding her hair and pinning it into loops. “When can we tell the Emperor? It can’t be safe, all these…visits while my mistress is with child,” she said.
He watched her fingers dance in precise movements as she worked on Mei Gui’s hair and suppressed a smile. She would be angry if she thought he was amused. “How long since her last monthly letting?”
Silver Phoenix looked toward the ceiling and pursed her lips as she counted in her head. He wanted to kiss her. “Over three months at least,” she said.
“A few more weeks then, and I’ll tell the Emperor.” He ran his hands over his silk robe. “We can’t risk others hearing the news so early in the pregnancy. The wrong herb in her tea could ruin everything—”
He didn’t miss the sharp glance Silver Phoenix gave him in the mirror, and he stopped talking. Mei Gui’s peaceful expression was replaced with a small frown. “I didn’t mean to alarm you, lady. You’re well protected by me and those who serve me. I only take extreme caution because of the precious gift you carry.” He bowed, and the concubine relaxed. Silver Phoenix rubbed her mistress’s shoulders with both hands, her dark eyes on him in the mirror. He smiled at her reflection, and she dropped her gaze. “I’ll take my leave,” he said. The visit had been to confirm the pregnancy with his own eyes.
“Master Zhong.” Silver Phoenix turned to him, in a fluid motion that brought to mind the mythical creature she was named for. “Could I speak with you?”
“Of course.” He stepped into the reception hall, and she followed, sliding the bedchamber panel closed behind her. She took one small step toward him, and he noticed for the first time a tiny mole beneath her right eye, as if she had accidentally touched the tip of a thin calligraphy brush there. The Xian believed a beauty mark near the eye meant a lifetime of tears; he hoped it wasn’t true for her.
“I wanted to apologize for my actions and my words from the other evening.” She clasped her hands demurely. “I overstepped my boundaries and broke decorum.”
“It’s understandable, you having been a song girl and me—”
“That is exactly why I’m asking for your forgiveness.” She interrupted. She lifted her heart-shaped face to him, and he drew closer without realizing what he was doing.
“I’ll forgive you if you take dinner with me,” he said, smiling.
One delicate brow rose. “I tend to my mistress until she retires each night. Only then am I free to dine.”
“Tell me when, and I’ll be waiting.” He pressed a palm to his heart. “Otherwise, I’m uncertain I can accept your apology.”
She blushed. Zhong Ye kept his expression as placid as a court mask, although he wondered if his eyes betrayed his amusement and desire.
“On the next full moon then, Master Zhong.” She was already returning to her mistress but cast a glance over her shoulder. He saw a hint of a smile on her full lips.
He bowed and then stood motionless in the empty hall until he could no longer smell her fragrance.
The next full moon was three days away. Zhong Ye stalked around his reception hall, punching and kicking the dummies in each corner of the chamber when he passed them. He had had them specially made for shuen practice, as there was no one for him to spar with at the palace.
He would clear his engagements and tasks for the night.
Jab.
And ask the royal chef to prepare him a special meal. The chef thought he owed Zhong Ye his life
.
Spin kick.
After the poisoning scheme that was foiled on the Emperor’s forty-first-year celebration, the entire kitchen staff was interrogated for hours, and the royal chef had received the brunt of the abusive questioning.
Feint.
Backfist.
Zhong Ye had felt bad for the chef, as he had always been treated well by him, and had stepped in to vouch for his innocence. The chef was so moved by this gesture that he swore to consider him like a brother from then on.
Punch.
He smiled at the irony. Gains could be made in the most unexpected ways. Zhong Ye took a cursory glance at his quarters as he went through his forms. They had become more opulent. He was not one of the Emperor’s most trusted advisers yet, less than a year after his promotion, but he was certainly favored.
Flowers! He would fill the chamber with flowers for Silver Phoenix’s visit. And a gift, a small expensive token of some kind…
Zhong Ye paused in mid-stride. He was acting like a besotted boy! How could Silver Phoenix ever consider him a romantic possibility?
He stripped off his tunic and spun across the hall with a series of punches and kicks at full force. He welcomed the quickening of his blood, the thundering of his heartbeat. Zhong Ye didn’t stop until the sting of his scraped knuckles dulled the aching desire inside him. He stood, breathing hard, sweat trickling down his chest. He’d call off this rendezvous before he made a further fool of himself.
Zhong Ye scooped the last of the scallion flatbread into his mouth, chewing but not tasting. “Listen to this. ‘Beware of the Poison Eagle. He has the cry of an infant and guards the life-giving root, on the mountain filled with precious metals.’ I think it’s referring to the empress root,” he said. They had skimmed the passage before but had somehow missed its significance.
Zhong Ye read on. “‘Once the root is unearthed, the man-eater will be drawn to the root’s scent. It will attack and devour the person carrying the root. It is the reason for the beast’s ever-lasting life.’ This must be it!” He tapped the book with one finger.
“Does it give any additional clues to the location of the mountain?” Yokan asked.
Zhong Ye scanned the page quickly. “Nothing except to say that the weather is always mild. Perhaps it’s somewhere in the southwest province.”
“Yes, I think we’re close. Some more details, and we may be able to pinpoint the location.” Yokan placed his quill on the stand and flexed his hand. “I’m stiff from so many hours of transcribing. Let’s retire early tonight.”
“I’ll bring the book with me to study,” Zhong Ye said as he collected his belongings.
Yokan smiled and headed for the door. “Sometimes a moment to rest the mind can also help,” he said. “You’ve been reading and analyzing all day.” The foreigner’s every step was punctuated by the tinkling of the charms on his belt.
“Do those charms carry meaning?” Zhong Ye asked.
Yokan glanced down and cradled one with a pale hand. “These are tokens, given by my king for valor or sacrifice. Nothing great can ever be gained without either.” He lifted his gaze. “You understand the necessity of sacrifice, don’t you?”
Thinking of what he had given up to be within the palace gates, Zhong Ye almost smirked. “I do.”
“The time will come when you’ll need both valor and sacrifice for what we want to accomplish. I can depend on you?” Yokan’s voice dropped as he spoke, his accent almost unnoticeable.
“Yes, master.” Zhong Ye bowed as Yokan stepped from the study. When Zhong Ye finally followed Yokan outside and the frigid evening air enveloped them, Zhong Ye couldn’t help wondering exactly what Yokan referred to. He still knew very little about the foreigner. Yokan was using him, but Zhong Ye was doing the same; it made for the best of court relations.
He turned the corner, and was startled by the full moon hovering above the sloped roofline. He paused to admire it, something tickling him like a fly on a horse’s ear. Wait for the extra moon and dark again. An extra moon, an extra full moon within the same month! It happened once every few years. Could this be the meaning of the riddle? Zhong Ye hurried now to his quarters, excitement animating his steps.
He stopped short, alarmed by the lantern light that filtered through the carved panels. His entire hall was lit. He felt for the dagger he kept at his waist, before sliding the door open. Silver Phoenix sat in one of the carved chairs, her hands folded in her lap. She wore a flowing emerald dress, its skirt pooling at her feet. Zhong Ye swallowed the knot of surprise in his throat.
“What are you doing here?” He sounded more brusque than he had intended.
“You asked me to dine with you. I waited for you to escort me but couldn’t wait any longer.” Her voice was calm, but he could detect an edge beneath the calmness.
“Didn’t you receive the message I sent? I had to retract my invitation.” He dumped the large books he carried onto the closest table. “I’m too busy with work.”
“No, I didn’t receive your message.” She stood with fluid grace and raised one hand to touch her coiled braid. She had placed jeweled combs in her hair—for him, he realized. “I see you are not a man to keep your word. I’ll bid you a peaceful evening then, Master Zhong.”
Suddenly he was no longer tired or interested in studying The Book of the Dead anymore that night. “Please stay. My apologies. I’ll ask the kitchen to send something.” A special feast he had wanted, and flowers to adorn the hall, to pin in her hair. Instead, he had nothing except the defiant tilt of her chin. “Sit.” He took her gently by the arm and persuaded her to sit back onto the plush brocaded cushion. “Just one moment.”
He hurried to the small chamber tucked behind his quarters. It was dark, and he banged the door panel open, eliciting a sharp cry and clatter from the corner. “Xiao Mao!”
The servant boy leaped to his feet. “Master Zhong! I didn’t realize you needed me.” No older than twelve years, he was going through a growth spurt, and his trousers barely reached past his knees. He was too thin. Zhong Ye would have to ask the kitchen to make sure the boy got his fair share at mealtimes.
“Silver Phoenix is in my reception hall.”
The boy’s eyes bugged out of his head like a toad’s. Zhong Ye almost laughed. “I delivered your message, mas—”
“Never mind. Go to the kitchen and ask for a meal to be prepared for us. Move!”
Xiao Mao returned within a quarter of an hour, bearing a lacquered tray laden with food. Another kitchen boy followed, also weighed down with dishes. Zhong Ye would have to remember to thank the chef tomorrow. The boys set the trays on a round table decorated with enameled orchids and scurried away without a word. Well done, he thought.
Zhong Ye set a ceramic cup in front of Silver Phoenix and filled it with rice wine, then poured some for himself. He raised his cup. “Thank you for staying.”
Her full lips curved into a smile, and he didn’t look away as she brought the cup to her mouth for a sip. “In truth, I wasn’t sure if I would.” She began pulling the lids off the dishes. “I considered slipping out when you went to speak with your servant boy.”
She picked up silver eating sticks and began filling her plate. He followed suit. “And what made you stay?” he asked.
“I wanted to see you…despite your rudeness.”
“I was a dolt,” he said. “Forgive me?”
“Perhaps I’ll let you make it up to me,” she replied with a glint in her dark eyes.
Before he came to the palace, Zhong Ye had had affairs with girls who meant nothing to him. Silver Phoenix was different. He needed to know everything he could about her. “How many years are you?” he asked.
“Seventeen.” She ate, taking small bites. “I’ve been on my own since twelve years. Being a song girl forces one to grow up fast.”
He leaned back, no longer hungry. He poured himself more wine.
“Twelve years. That’s so young.” He studied unabashedly the delicate arch of her
brows, the curve of her cheek, and the line of her neck.
“No younger than some of the concubines who enter the palace. We’re deemed ready when we begin our monthly letting.” She met his eyes. “How many years are you?”
“I entered the palace at sixteen years. This is my second year.”
“Only eighteen?” she asked. “You act ten years older.”
He laughed. “My youth isn’t an advantage at the Emperor’s court. Better if I appear older than my true age.”
“What happened to your hands?” She touched one of his fingers. His knuckles were thick with scabs, and he flinched.
“Nothing.” He smiled.
Silver Phoenix considered him as if she could read his thoughts, then finally tapped her wine cup with the tip of her finger. He filled it for her. “Do you miss your family?” she asked.
The question surprised him. It had been seven years since he’d left their small farm. His father, muscular and stoic. His mother, looking older than her years from working day in and out, year round. From rearing five children. She had been the prettiest girl in their village. But Zhong Ye had only glimpsed her beauty fleetingly when she smiled, a rarity. His siblings, with whom he had to fight for food at every meal. “There was no future there.” What would be the point of missing them? He could never return.
She nodded. “I tried my best to convince my parents to keep me, did everything I could to be useful, so I could stay. But I was a third daughter.”
She didn’t need to explain further. Her parents sold her to a brothel when she turned twelve years, and once sold, she might as well have been dead to them. They sat in silence for long moments, as she pushed the food around on her plate.
He leaned across the table and reached for her free hand. “We can be friends to each other? That is almost like family?”
Her lips parted, and she looked at him with shining eyes. Finally, she smiled. And Zhong Ye gazed at her, losing himself, until she squeezed his fingers. Only then did he remember to smile back.