by Cindy Pon
He sat down next to her and pulled something from his knapsack. “Let’s eat. We need strength.”
Her stomach grumbled. What she would not give for a large bowl of broth with hand-pulled noodles or steamed dumplings or cabbage and braised pork meatballs….
Chen Yong handed her two biscuits and strips of dried squid. She gnawed on the squid, savoring the flavor. She wolfed down the biscuits, despite their stale blandness.
“If only we had some tea.” They spoke at the same time. Their eyes met in surprise, and they laughed.
“It’s good to see you eat. I’d be worried if you ever lost your appetite,” he said, dusting his hands of crumbs.
“Why do I feel like I should take offense to that?” Ai Ling laughed at the uncertain expression that flitted across his handsome features. She rummaged through her own knapsack, careful to keep her face composed, and pulled out an apple. Chen Yong sliced it with a small knife. But she was no longer hungry, and he ate the crisp fruit alone.
“I’ve been thinking of nothing but the Palace while you slept,” Chen Yong said.
“The Palace.” Would she have enough strength to defeat Zhong Ye and save her father?
“It was the destination in my mind as I steered,” he said, scanning the horizon.
The light faded fast, as if the day fled from them. The night deepened and a full moon rose. They discovered the chariot had a strong light in the front, illuminating their way. Ai Ling leaned over to investigate and discovered two round orbs embedded in the woodwork, forming the dragon’s eyes. She touched one eye with cautious fingertips. It was neither cool nor hot.
The interior of the chariot itself had the same orb carved into the woodwork of the floor panel. This light glowed softly and looked like a moon, rising large and full over carved hills and trees.
“Have you ever seen anything like it?” She traced her finger around it.
“The one-armed tribe was known for their mechanical and building skills. That much I remember from The Book of Lands Beyond,” Chen Yong said. There was a short pause in which only the sound of the wind rushing by filled the space around them.
She let out a breath that turned into a small hiss. “You’re right. They are both female and male—it explains their high voices and smooth faces.”
After all they had encountered, this realization still stunned her. They had visited a land, been captured by a people she thought to be story and myth. It was one thing to believe the Immortals were real—but people so different from themselves?
“You saved us,” Chen Yong said in a quiet voice. “What you did was beyond my comprehension. I don’t know how you took control of his body, much less acted like him so convincingly. I wasn’t even sure myself it was you.”
“I did what I had to do. I went into his mind and saw him thinking of…experiments he wanted to perform.” She looked down at her hands. She sounded like a monster herself. Some sort of demon. “I think my ability has grown stronger. I’ve seen through the eyes of the undead—the demon that carried your image…and the corpse monster…I killed it from within.”
“Within?”
“I went inside it to kill it.”
“Mother of the Heavens, I thought you slew it with the blessed dagger. It’s amazing, Ai Ling. It’s frightening….” Chen Yong trailed off.
She clasped her knees to her chest. “I wish I knew more. I just go. I didn’t know I could take over the Anatomist’s body until I tried. I was terrified and couldn’t think of another way to escape.”
She shook her head. “Li Rong was right when he called it spiritual rape,” she whispered, her voice catching.
Chen Yong touched her wrist. Startled by his contact, her skin tingled.
“You saved our lives, Ai Ling. Thank the Goddess for your gift.”
She tried to smile, grateful for his kind words, but could not manage it.
She stood and looked out at the world far below. She could see trees and mountain peaks, lit by the moon—like ink washes she’d done for evening landscapes. The air was cold this high up, and the stars shone and glimmered. Ai Ling pulled on an extra tunic and tucked herself back on the bench, trying to find constellations she was familiar with in the night sky.
She must have drifted to sleep again. The glare of daylight beneath her closed lids roused her. She peered, squinting, and saw Chen Yong still guiding the chariot.
“How long have I been asleep?” she asked, rubbing her face. It did not feel like long enough.
“The chariot seems to hasten the passing of time. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours,” he said.
“You should get some rest, too.”
Chen Yong sat down next to her on the cushioned bench. “I don’t think I could fall asleep even if I tried,” he said. He stared at the pivot before them. “I don’t believe the chariot even needs steering, once the destination is set. It helped to keep my mind occupied.”
Ai Ling studied him. He appeared exhausted, his grief etched in the tense line of his jaw. He put his face in his hands, allowing his shoulders to fall forward as if in defeat. She wanted to draw him into her arms, cradle him as he had cradled her. But she did not move.
“If you’re to help me save my father—and perhaps find your mother, I think you should try to rest,” she said.
“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, Ai Ling. Given the nature of the creatures we’ve been fighting. Zhong Ye will be the strongest foe of all, the most powerful in the dark arts.”
“I can’t do this alone.”
Chen Yong lifted his head and met her gaze. “I think you can.”
“I’m glad you believe so.” She clutched a cushion to her chest. “I’m not so certain.”
“You haven’t seen yourself, Ai Ling. You’re quick-witted and brave. You’re strong.”
She dropped her chin, her face tingling with pleasure. “And stubborn. And rash.”
Chen Yong leaned back and laughed. “Even so, I’ll be there at your side until the end.”
Ai Ling did not fear he would abandon her. Not now. But a small part of her wondered if she was being selfish, especially after the loss of Li Rong. The thought of him brought back both intense grief and anger. What had she done in her former life to inherit this terrible task? Li Rong was dead, and Chen Yong risked his own life for her. No one else would be hurt—not her father, not Chen Yong. She would end this.
She rose and peered over the side of the flying chariot. Nothing but infinite cerulean blue with wisps of clouds below. She let the wind brush past her. It soothed her. She was glad they were nowhere, because to be somewhere would mean fighting for their lives again. She was glad to be alone with Chen Yong.
His eyes were closed. A wild, intense feeling filled her, shuddered through her. Ai Ling turned from him, fought the urge to crouch close and see the rise and fall of his chest. Did he dream? She remembered the girl of his dreams, felt again his aching loss.
She did not notice the chariot’s descent until the clouds that had been beneath surrounded them. The chariot glided faster now as it flew downward, and the daylight faded once again too soon, the remains of the full moon revealing a vast sea below. Ai Ling drank from her flask and nibbled on some dried mango.
She sat down next to Chen Yong, gathering his warmth, even though their bodies did not touch. She slept with her knapsack hugged tight against her, Li Rong’s heart pressed against her own.
She dreamed of home, of sweeping the main hall and eating a celebratory feast for the new year. They toasted one another with wine and laughter. Then she sat at her mother’s dressing mirror as her mother brushed her hair. The face reflected before her was not recognizable. The mirror showed a beautiful woman, with her own features, but painted with expert care. Her mother slowly wound her hair up above her head in elaborate loops, before placing a wedding veil over her face.
No.
A gentle thud jolted her from her dreams. The sun had risen. They were on the ground. Chen Yong sat up beside
her. They were outside the tall walls of a city—there was no one about. She looked up and saw that watch towers spanned its entire length. She caught Chen Yong’s eye. Was this the Emperor’s city?
Chen Yong stepped out of the chariot, his belongings slung across his back and his sword at his side.
“I hate to leave this chariot,” she said.
Chen Yong smiled and nodded to a grove behind them. They pushed the dragon chariot among the trees. It was hidden from the path along the city wall, but not as well as she would have liked.
They set out to find a gate. The city was massive, vast beyond her comprehension. They walked for more than an hour, following the edge of the mud-colored wall, before they came upon a grand entrance.
Thick black stone doors were pushed back, and a golden dragon, extended to full length, claws splayed like daggers, graced each one. An imposing ebony sign hung above the grand gate, with the characters HUANG LONG carved in gold. She touched Chen Yong’s elbow.
“The City of the Yellow Dragon,” she whispered. This was where they would find the Palace of Fragrant Dreams, the main residence of the Emperor.
“The chariot did not fail us,” Chen Yong said.
They joined a throng of people on foot, astride their horses, or hidden behind silk drapes in sedans, all waiting to filter through the massive main gate.
The line moved quickly. Many people were waved past by the sentry at the gate while other guardsmen looked on. Just ahead of them, a peasant in a faded tunic and trousers handed over a scroll. The sentry unfurled it. He read its contents and pushed back the peasant’s straw hat to scrutinize his face. The peasant’s shoulders curled forward, his hands clasped tightly together. The sentry waved him away, denying entry.
Chen Yong leaned close to her. “Let me speak for us,” he whispered.
Ai Ling opened her mouth to retort that she had a voice of her own, then closed it again. For her to speak would certainly draw attention to them. A young woman outside the inner quarters stayed mute, unless spoken to.
It was soon their turn. She felt the weariness in her muscles and joints, the dust on her clothes and the travel grime on her skin. The guard studied Chen Yong’s face and then looked at hers just as intently. She knew they were not a pleasant sight.
“What business do you have in the Emperor’s city?” he asked, his voice surprisingly deep.
“I come to prepare for the imperial examinations. This is my wife.”
The guard raised his brows, and Ai Ling hoped she did not raise her own. Why hadn’t he told her? She looped one arm around his and squeezed it with her other hand. Curse the rotten turtle egg for surprising her like this.
“So fortunate to marry before you even make rank? And you a foreigner besides?” Ai Ling felt Chen Yong’s arm tense, but refrained from casting herself into the sentry’s spirit. Not yet.
“She was promised to me at birth. I’m fortunate indeed,” Chen Yong said, and took her hand.
The blood rushed to her face, and she looked down at her feet.
“And so newly wed she does not wear her hair up?” The guard was close enough that she smelled the tobacco on his breath. She pressed her chin lower.
“My wife is from the country and lax in her ways. I have promised her a handmaid who will fix her hair each morning, once I pass the exams and receive an official appointment,” Chen Yong said.
He spoke with such ease that she almost believed him.
“Good luck on the examinations then. Move on.” The guard waved and did not bother to give either of them another glance. They walked through the gate under the curious eyes of the other sentries standing guard.
“Don’t pull your hand away,” Chen Yong said softly when they were out of earshot. She knew enough not to look back, but she pinched his arm as punishment. He chuckled under his breath as they walked hand in hand down the main street of the Emperor’s city.
The architecture of the city was elaborate. Each building rose at least three stories tall, with pillars carved of alabaster, jasper, and jade. The roof tiles were all gilded in gold. The main street was lined with merchant stores, selling everything from embroidered silk bedding to tailored clothing, cookware supplies, spices, wines, and sweets. The wide, tree-flanked cobbled street was mobbed with people. Not as impressive as the quartz walkways of the One-Armed Tribe, but certainly better than any Xian town she had visited.
A few restaurants were interspersed between the specialty merchant shops. Ai Ling’s mouth watered from the scent of roasted duck. Chen Yong released her hand, and her heart dropped with it as he pulled away.
“Let’s eat first,” he said. “The smell of that duck is torture.”
They pushed their way toward the origin of the delicious aroma, and wandered down a small side street. Tucked in the middle was a cramped one-story restaurant, looking as if it fought for its space between two tall buildings. There was no name plaque outside the establishment.
Ai Ling and Chen Yong stepped into the dark interior. The restaurant was small, and surprisingly empty considering the tantalizing scent that had drawn them both. Fewer than a dozen wooden tables took up the tiny space, with a dark blue curtain draped between the dining area and the kitchen behind it.
“Goddess of Mercy, I need to eat,” Ai Ling said, sliding into a wooden chair near the kitchen. They’d be served faster, she reasoned.
Chen Yong grinned at her. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a hot meal.” He sat down across from her and put his knapsack on the floor. “Order as much as you like. My treat.”
Ai Ling clapped her hands with glee, and Chen Yong laughed.
“It’s the least I deserve after the shock of playing your wife without so much as a kiss or warning,” she said.
Two bright points of color appeared on Chen Yong’s cheekbones, barely noticeable in the dim light. Ai Ling smiled, amused that she had made him blush for once.
“It worked, didn’t it? We would have had too many questions otherwise,” he said.
A girl brought them hot tea.
“A plate of the roast duck, steamed dumplings, spicy noodles with beef gravy, pickled cucumbers, stewed tongue and eggs if you have them, cold please, and sticky rice pearls, too,” Ai Ling said, before the server girl could open her mouth. “I don’t know what he wants.” Ai Ling nodded toward Chen Yong.
“I’m not sure I have enough coins to order anything more,” he said, laughing.
Ai Ling was about to retort but couldn’t help but laugh with him.
“I’ll have fresh steamed fish, if you have it, and bean curd with shrimp and snow peas,” he said.
“We are close to the sea and have fresh seafood delivered daily, sir.” The servant girl nodded before she hurried away to the kitchen with their order.
“We never ate much seafood. It was difficult to get, not to mention expensive. But always a treat,” Ai Ling said.
“I guess I grew up spoiled. My family had at least one seafood dish with every meal,” he said.
Ai Ling glanced at the other patrons in the small restaurant. There was a stocky man drinking wine and trying various small dishes near the entrance, and at another table close by two men slurped large bowls of noodles. Her hunger worsened.
Another patron was just entering. He blocked the doorway, the sunlight from behind him obscuring his features. He raised one hand and pointed at her. The hair on her arms stood on end.
“Ai Ling,” he hissed.
“Chen Yong,” she said, in warning.
He did not rise from the chair, but his eyes were alert and dangerous.
The figure stepped from the doorway, and the lanterns in the small restaurant revealed his form. His white tongue lolled out past his chin, the ashen lips drawn back showing jagged teeth. Instead of hair, milk white strands thicker than noodles writhed on his head. It took a second for Ai Ling to realize that each strand was alive, with tiny gaping maws. A keening came from the hundreds of open mouths. Her teeth ached from it.
/> Night-worm fiends! Her mind quickly flew to The Book of the Dead.
The man dining with his friend was the only other patron facing the front entrance. He shrieked and scooted back in his chair too quickly, tipping backward in a heap.
The stocky man eating by himself rose in confusion. “Son of a cursed bitch, what’s—” He never finished his sentence as the thing lurched from behind and laid a hand on his shoulder.
The man’s eyes grew wide as they turned a filmy white, his black pupils disappearing. His lips drew back as jagged teeth erupted from his gums and his tongue fell from his mouth, widening and lengthening at the same time, until it licked his own chin. Worms sprouted instantaneously from his entire head, undulating and hissing as they grew to their full length.
“Ai Ling,” he hissed.
The metamorphosis was complete in mere breaths. The man who had fallen on the floor whimpered and struggled to rise. His friend tried to help him to his feet.
But both creatures covered the space between them in two jerky strides, each laying a hand on one of the men. Ai Ling didn’t need to see what would happen next. She jumped from her chair and saw Chen Yong do the same, with his sword drawn.
“Through the kitchen,” she yelled.
She dashed through the curtained door, only to be greeted by the hissing of her name. Their servant girl. She crouched by the cutting table, blocking their way to the back entry. Ai Ling cast a quick glance around and saw two others, stumbling toward them.
“Step back!” Chen Yong pushed past her and slashed the servant girl in the neck with his sword. The pale worms on her head spat with fury. But the girl did not falter, and she extended her hand toward Chen Yong.
The other two closed in on Ai Ling, hands outstretched, hissing her name.
She felt the crackle in her hair as all three demons were enveloped in a blinding light and flung against the kitchen wall. Ai Ling clutched her jade pendant, burning in her palm.
“Go!” she shouted.
She threw the back door open and jumped into the small alleyway that ran behind the restaurant. The stench of rotten cabbage filled her nose. She looked back past Chen Yong to see the three demons from the dining room stagger after them. She splashed through a puddle of rancid water and slipped, reeling backward. Chen Yong caught her and pushed her upright again, thrusting her forward.