by Janie Chang
But they ignored me and I drifted among the rafters of the temple, silent and perplexed.
My souls spiral down and come to rest on the altar.
We are ready now, says a stern voice, and there is a taste of mustard at the back of my tongue. My yang soul. Although his red spark remains balanced on the wooden tablet, an elderly man wearing a round scholar’s cap appears beside the altar. He resembles my grandfather as I’ve seen him in photographs, with steel-rimmed glasses and a goatee. He is dressed in a high-necked changshan gown of deep blue silk over loose black trousers.
Yes, let’s begin. A new voice tinkles like wind chimes, accompanied by the scent of camellia. The bright ember of my yin soul dances in midair, circling the confines of the courtyard. She comes to rest beside the old scholar, a schoolgirl of fifteen with deep brown eyes below wispy bangs, a long pigtail thrown over one shoulder. Her ankle socks and navy uniform blazer match perfectly, her white blouse is spotless.
Leiyin needs to remember, says a third voice. My hun soul flies down from the beams overhead and I feel my hair being pulled, a light, playful tug. Its image joins the other souls. It manifests as a silhouette of light, shaped like a human, as brilliant as the morning sun and as featureless. Before she can ascend to the afterlife, she needs to understand the reason for her detention in this world.
This is punishment? This doesn’t look like hell, I say, feeling a wave of panic. Where is the underground maze? What about the fanged demons, the chambers of torture? What is this twilight existence if not the afterlife?
This isn’t hell, nor is it the true afterlife. My yang soul turns to me, a slight scowl on his seamed face. You could say it’s the afterdeath. And you’re still here because in life you were responsible for a great wrong.
I don’t remember anything about a great wrong. Bewildered as much as indignant, I want to remember my life. Surely I was not, had not been, a criminal.
Soon you’ll remember everything and so will we. My yin soul pulls the ribbon off her pigtail and shakes out her hair. She begins braiding it again. Relive your memories. Only then will you understand what you must do to ascend to the afterlife.
And why do I need to ascend anyway? I know I sound sulky, rebellious.
As soon as I ask this question, an eager swirl of emotions radiates from my souls. In my mind’s eye I see them, three red sparks lifting into the air toward a portal that spills golden light over the horizon. Beyond the portal flicker tantalizing glimpses of grassy landscapes, mountain lakes, and eternally blossoming orchards. This vision makes me yearn to rise up toward that portal and join my souls. Now I understand the restlessness that invades my being, an upward pull I can’t follow so long as the manacles of my sins weigh me down to this world.
We must ascend. Reincarnation awaits us in the afterlife. My yin soul spins so that her pleated skirt twirls up around her, a circle of navy blue. There, we will have a chance for new lives, new hope. But if we stay too long in this existence . . . As her voice trails off, I hear in it a small tremor.
First, she must remember, my hun soul interjects. It reaches out a shining limb and pulls my hair again, this time a firm and peremptory tug. You must understand the damage you did. Then you must make amends to balance the ledger. Only then can we ascend together to the true afterlife.
So we will go together? You won’t go now and leave me here? Relief.
We are your souls, we’re part of you, my yang soul snaps. We can’t leave until you do. He glares at me through moon-shaped lenses.
Don’t mind yang, says my yin soul, who has finished braiding her hair. He’s not happy unless he’s berating someone.
Where should we begin? my hun soul asks. On the day of the party?
Yes, the day of the party, the other souls agree.
The day you first stepped off the path that had been paved for you, my hun soul says.
I have no choice. How else can I reclaim my memories, discover what to do next? At this moment I can’t even remember what Weilan looked like as a baby.
My yin soul sinks to the floor and tucks her knees under her skirt, a child waiting to hear a story. My yang soul settles on a stool near the door and brushes a cobweb from his black trousers. My hun soul drifts to the altar, and with a single bright fingertip gently strokes my name tablet.
Suddenly I’m standing on a street lined with sycamore trees and high, whitewashed walls. I’m watching a schoolgirl climb down from a rickshaw. But in that same moment, I’m also that girl, my foot about to touch the curb.
I know everything about my life before that moment.
I know nothing of what is to come.
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ALSO BY JANIE CHANG
Three Souls
CREDITS
Cover design by Elsie Lyons
Cover photographs: © ILINA SIMEONOVA/Trevillion Images (woman); © Getty Images (fox); © Shutterstock (temple court and details)
Chinese Lattice Pattern © Elmery/Shutterstock, Inc.
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DRAGON SPRINGS ROAD. Copyright © 2017 by Janie Chang. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Chang, Janie.
Title: Dragon Springs Road : a novel / Janie Chang.
Description: First edition. | New York, NY : William Morrow, 2016.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016024337 (print) | LCCN 2016028609 (ebook) | ISBN 9780062388957 (pbk.) | ISBN 9780062388971 (e-book)
Subjects: LCSH: Abandoned children--China--Fiction. | Racially mixed people--Fiction. | GSAFD: Historical fiction
Classification: LCC PS3603.H35729 D83 2016 (print) | LCC PS3603.H35729 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016024337
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EPub Edition January 2017 ISBN 9780062388971
ISBN 978-0-06-238895-7
17 18 19 20 21 RRD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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