by Jeannie Lin
“It’s possible,” I said, maintaining a cautious stance.
“Between the automatons and the rifle designs. Electricity experiments. If we could have come to an agreement with Japan, it could have turned the entire war.”
Each of our nations had its own concerns and its own directives. We were not of one mind, and we never would be, as much as Chang-wei might hope it. It couldn’t be helped.
Had Lord Takeda persuaded the shogunate to prepare for the Western invasion? Was he in chains now? Somehow, I knew in my heart he would be able to come to an understanding. They needed him, and they knew it. It was a precarious position that I knew too well—to be valuable and dangerous at once.
“I would have liked to know more about the lightning cylinder,” Chang-wei confessed.
The container had been one of Lord Sagara’s inventions. Satomi had only a passing knowledge of how it worked, and our last use of it seemed to have depleted its store.
He turned the page and then quickly turned to the next, but not before I caught a glimpse of what had been there.
“What was that?”
“Nothing—”
He tried to use his shoulder to block me, but I grabbed the corner of the page and flipped it back.
“Is that a drawing of me?” It was half accusation, half question. My heart thudded in a giddy rhythm.
“Of course not.”
I couldn’t help smiling.
“It’s a design for a karakuri. She dances and sings. She does whatever I want.”
I jabbed him with my elbow. He grinned at me, and I made a face back before falling silent. Too much had happened to pretend we could tease each other without a care. We’d never had that freedom between us.
“You don’t really look like that,” he said after a pause.
“Oh?”
Chang-wei closed the notebook and ran a nervous hand over the cover. His look was both serious and earnest. “You’re prettier than that. I mean, I’m better at drawing technical diagrams than faces.”
“Can I see it again?”
“Not yet. Maybe when she’s finished.”
The drawing hadn’t been hideous by any means. If anything, it was flattering. I didn’t taunt Chang-wei further. I looked out at the endless blue on blue. We were headed back to the mainland and then home, but maybe I didn’t mind being out to sea so much.
He followed behind me as I retired below, but when we reached the foot of stairs, I felt his hand on my arm, turning me around. We were tucked beneath the stairwell, with me in his arms.
“What are you doing?”
The corner of Chang-wei’s mouth twitched. “I’m doing as I’m told.”
He kissed me then, holding me against him while the waves rolled beneath us.
At first I was afraid for him, but his heart beat strong against where we were pressed together. He took my face in his hands as he deepened the kiss. There was nothing for me to do but fall into it.
His mouth pressed against mine, not with enough force to frighten me, but hard enough for me to know that he’d wanted to do this for a long, long time.
“I’m not on the brink of death,” he said huskily, breaking the kiss to sink a hand into my hair. “And I do care for you.”
I remembered our first kiss, our only. And I had been waiting for our second every moment we were together. There were times over the last year I was in near tears, thinking it would never happen. But Chang-wei was here now, taking my mouth with a hunger that made my knees weak. I held on to him and returned the kiss with the same feverish hunger.
“I want all of this,” he confessed, pausing only for a moment before closing his mouth over mine once more. “I want a life with you. To marry you, as we had intended.”
It was a long time before we pulled apart. But even then, his arms remained around me. He rested his cheek against my forehead while I tried to catch my breath.
“But I’m in constant danger, Soling. The imperial court doesn’t trust me. It never will. I can’t tie you to my fate when my future is so uncertain.”
“The danger will never go away,” I told him. “And not because of this impending war with the West or because of the politics of the imperial court. It will never go away because you are Chen Chang-wei. You are who you are.”
He reached out to run his thumb over my cheek. “Soling, I know you think I’m like Lord Takeda. Country before family, public before private. I know there are things I should have told you. For a long time now.”
I was afraid that if I said something, he’d veer off course. So I remained as quiet and still as I could, willing him to continue.
“These are dangerous times, and I’ve committed to this path.”
Now I couldn’t remain silent. “I have as well,” I told him, annoyed.
“I know you have. I know it even more now.”
He reached for me in the tiniest of movements. His hand upon my elbow, drawing me closer more from will than physical touch.
“I told you before I guessed why Aguda had sent you with me.”
I knew now, too. “Because of Yang Hanzhu. If you needed him, he would be more likely to help you with me by your side.”
“Not only that,” he denied, his tone fierce. “It’s easy to get lost in a cause, to sacrifice yourself needlessly. He wanted someone to remind me why it was all important in the first place. Someone to bring me back.”
I could barely breathe. “You need me,” I told him fiercely.
Chang-wei smiled, one of his rare, genuine smiles that made my heart melt. “I do need you.”
Before I could reply, we were interrupted by a creak of the stairs. We pulled apart quickly while Yang Hanzhu took one deliberately heavy step after another.
“I apologize for the intrusion,” he said blandly, walking past us. He spared Chang-wei one pointed look before heading down the corridor. Together we stared at his back as he retreated.
When Chang-wei looked back at me, the moment was broken. But he was still breathing hard, his eyes bright and color high on his cheeks. He looked happy, as if there were no other place in the world where he could fit like this. And I felt the same. I felt it in my heart. This was part of the connection between us, and it could never be completely broken.
Chapter Twenty-two
The door to Yang’s laboratory wasn’t locked. I was correct in guessing I would find him in there. He stood by one of the lab tables wearing a thick pair of gloves. Before him was Satomi’s electrical cell. He had managed to remove the center panel and was scraping some of the residue from inside.
“What is in there?”
Yang remained focused on his work. “A mixture of salt and acid. There are multiple compartments surrounding the main chamber. They’re all fitted with some confounded machinery.”
Yang’s focus was alchemical. Mechanical principles eluded him. I should have known that Yang or Chang-wei would fall over himself to dissect Lord Sagara’s invention.
“I recognized the name Sagara immediately. Struck down in daylight, without a single protest. Such a waste,” he spat. “A waste of a great mind. The same thing will happen to Chang-wei if he stays around the nest of ignorance that is the Forbidden City. Just think of the name. The place is closed off and isolated by design. Yet its inhabitants command the entire empire.”
“At least Chang-wei believes in something,” I argued.
“I believe in something,” Yang insisted. He squared his shoulders while I waited, a look of challenge in my eyes. He only spoke one word.
“Peking.”
I frowned at him, but a moment later I remembered his singular focus, the one reason he’d built this laboratory. “What’s in Peking?”
“I’ve traced the tainted opium shipments to Peking.”
My reply froze on my tongue. If the opium had reached Peking, th
en it could have found its way into my mother’s hands. Or Emperor Yizhu’s . . .
“Are you certain?” I asked, my heart racing. I trusted my mother when she promised she would no longer seek out opium, but someone had procured the drug for the Son of Heaven. And numerous officials and eunuchs still indulged in it, despite all the edicts and decrees.
“There was some effort to make the drug less potent,” Yang reasoned. “The samples I isolated had less of the opiate compounds, but the mixture was a stronger hallucinogenic.”
Right before I’d fled Yang’s ship a year ago, I’d found disturbing evidence down in the cargo hold. “Are you experimenting on people?” I demanded. “Making them sick?”
He was shocked by my accusation. “Those were my men, afflicted after a visit to an opium den in Macau. It was my first clue something was wrong with the opium supply.”
Chang-wei and I had witnessed isolated incidents of a strange affliction, seemingly brought on by opium use. Instead of the typical laconic stupor, the afflicted first fell into a comatose state before waking enraged. In Changsha, it had even been mistaken for mad dog sickness.
Was it spreading? And why did we encounter such resistance when we wanted to study opium at the Ministry’s laboratory?
“I must warn the Emperor,” I said. “And all of Peking.”
“It seems you’ve inherited Chen Chang-wei’s blind obedience to his masters,” Yang remarked casually.
I threw him a cutting look. “Between your hatred and Chang-wei’s sense of righteousness, at least Chang-wei can grow and change. Your hatred can’t go anywhere.”
Turning on my heel, I reached the door before Yang called to me. “Chang-wei asked me to watch after you if something were to happen to him.”
I looked back. “How could you possibly watch after me when I’m in Peking and you’re sailing the oceans as an outcast?”
He grinned. “How did you think I knew to be in Nagasaki at this exact time, mèimèi?”
* * *
I had seen the treaty port of Shanghai from the mainland, but to approach by sea was another matter. It was nothing like the guarded bay at Nagasaki, with a few ships dotting the harbor. Western steamships and airships were thick in the sea and air.
How many of the cargo ships out there were transporting crates of opium? Nothing but opium. There was little the trading ships brought that was of any use to us. The foreigners shipped the poison to our shores, and we were forced to let them in. And our populace breathed the black smoke into our lungs, willingly enslaved.
The invasion was already here. The war already lost. And men like Chen Chang-wei worked in secret, quietly waiting for the fight to begin again.
“You can still join with us,” Chang-wei said to Yang as we stood on the bow.
Yang’s expression was unreadable. “No. I can’t.”
“It won’t remain like this forever.”
Together they surveyed the port, taking in the iron monsters. I hadn’t mentioned Lord Sagara’s secret organization to either of them. I was almost certain they’d laugh at me for being foolish.
“Take care,” I told Yang.
“Remember what I told you.” His eyes met mine, and I knew what he spoke of. Peking and the tainted opium. We would meet again; I was certain of it.
We said farewell to our companions before disembarking. I was sad to see Satomi go. For a little while, I had imagined she would join me in the imperial city. With her gunsmith skills, we would have found a place for her. But she had preferred to remain alone when she had been in Nagasaki. She and Makoto had left their homeland behind, but they were certainly not ready to pledge loyalty to a new empire.
Chang-wei and I set foot on Chinese soil once again, and I felt both a flood of relief and tension. We were home, but now there was work to do. The familiar smells and sounds of the city hit me as we cleared the docks.
At the trading house, Chang-wei produced a jade seal that proclaimed his rank. “Take me to the Governor General of Ningpo,” he commanded.
The lowly clerk looked from the seal to us in confusion before disappearing to seek out a superior. We didn’t have the look of important officials in our travel-worn attire.
“It will take some time and an army of bureaucrats,” Chang-wei told me. The first signs of weariness were finally showing around his eyes. “But soon we’ll be on our way back to Peking.”
* * *
I would always feel a sweep of emotion upon returning to Peking. It was the place of my birth, the seat of our empire. A place of palaces and temples.
The first time I had flown over it, my brother Tian was by my side. He had been raised onto his toes, clinging to the rail to peer down into the capital. Look at that! There’s the Summer Palace! We had pointed out the sights to each other, two excited children, though he was nine and I was eighteen.
“There’s the Imperial Academy and the Ministry of Science.” I had pointed out a cluster of structures outside the dome of the Forbidden City, and my brother and I had fallen silent in reverence. Those were our sacred temples, where we hoped to worship.
This time there was only Chang-wei and me standing side by side. A cool breeze blew around us, whipping my hair back as I closed my eyes and breathed it in. His hand closed over mine.
I opened my eyes to look at him. His focus was down below, below and inward. There was something so beautiful and distant in his profile at that moment. As if I had more of a sense of him than he did. I could almost see his mind working away, ready for the next task, but his hand was still on mine.
“I wish we could have accomplished more,” Chang-wei said with a sigh.
I know he had hoped for collaboration between our two empires, but even though we were neighbors, the empire of Japan and our kingdom were worlds apart. Japan had made a concerted effort to set itself apart from us, and we had done our part to sever ties.
“With the American fleet sailing toward Edo, perhaps their thoughts on an alliance will shift in the future,” I said.
“Perhaps,” Chang-wei echoed absently. “Perhaps.”
But for now, our two nations had their own enemies to face.
Chapter Twenty-three
An escort was waiting for us at the airfield outside the Summer Palace. We were ushered into a carriage with little ceremony and taken directly to the Forbidden City.
Headman Aguda, clad in his black robe, met us outside the Grand Council. His gaze flickered to me before centering on Chang-wei.
“My report will be ready by tomorrow morning,” Chang-wei told him.
“You can give your report directly, Engineer Chen.”
Chang-wei frowned at the breach in protocol. It was late in the day—long after the Emperor had halted all audiences.
“You as well, Miss Jin,” the head of security said when I stood back. “In case there are any questions.”
The Emperor had seemed so dismissive of Chang-wei’s proposal, I was surprised there was such interest now. But next to the Emperor, the Grand Council held the highest authority in the land.
Before entering, Chang-wei relinquished a long wooden case to Headman Aguda. It held the Sagara flintlock rifle, beautifully crafted in wood and steel. Aguda opened the barrel and checked for ammunition. When satisfied there was none, he set the firearm back in the case. He didn’t hand the case back to Chang-wei. Instead, he held on to it and beckoned with a nod of his head for us to follow.
The chamber was a small, intimate space. Five men were seated around the table with Emperor Yizhu sitting at the head. Membership in the council was by the Emperor’s appointment. It could be as few as two and as many as twenty. To the left of Yizhu sat his brother Yixin, titled as Prince Gong, who was the head of the council. The others were all high-ranking Manchurians of noble blood. And then there was Chang-wei and me standing before them.
Emperor Yizhu sho
wed no visible reaction to seeing Chang-wei alive and well, even though the forbidden treatment they’d forced upon him would have killed him by now. It was entirely possible Yizhu had never known. Where had the order come from? Headman Aguda? The Grand Council?
Aguda set the rifle down before the Emperor, opening the case to display the weapon. Emperor Yizhu stared at it, his expression flat. I could tell he was unmoved by the firearm, no matter how sleek and deadly it was. Gunpowder had originated with our engineers, and our cannons had already failed us against the West.
Finally Yizhu nodded dispassionately. “What else?”
Chang-wei knelt and placed the scroll before him. With one sharp tug, the length of silk unfurled like the whip of a dragon’s tail.
The scroll stopped dramatically at the foot of the dais where the Grand Council could stare down at it. These weren’t the vague sketches and diagrams I had seen in Chang-wei’s notebook. What he had compiled to present to the Emperor was something far grander.
It was a vision. A scene that spoke so clearly, Chang-wei didn’t need to say a word. A mechanical legion stood shoulder to shoulder from one end of the scroll to the other. Each warrior was outfitted with masks, body armor and weaponry more fearsome than even the hitokiri we had faced.
Chang-wei had replicated the same image again and again so his vision was unmistakable. Firepower, steel and numbers. And within each breastplate was a glowing power source, painted as blue fire. That part was his own embellishment, but it presented a dramatic visual.
As the Grand Council surveyed the scroll, Chang-wei reached into his robe and extracted a metallic object. He placed it onto the scroll.
“The most important weapon of all,” he announced.
It was the electrical cell. The source of power that had restarted Chang-wei’s heart when it stopped beating, but that one surge had burnt it out. Had he repaired it?
He turned the dial, and the cell began to vibrate, humming to life with a loud whir of gears. There was something else. A light began to glow through the glass plate of the device. It shined blue.