by Kat Zhang
“We have to find a way down,” she said.
“Mia,” Aunt Lin said, “we can look for the treasure later—”
Mia shook her head. “No, no—we can hide there. Wherever the treasure is!”
Wherever Zhu Yunwen had hidden his treasure all these years—it had to be a good enough hiding place for the three of them now.
They tripped along, picking their way downhill and trying not to fall. Mia kept a tight grip on her aunt’s hand, so they could catch each other if one lost her balance. She’d never done anything like this in the dark before, but she’d gone hiking often enough back home. She knew how to angle her feet so they wouldn’t slip, how to test for steady ground that wouldn’t roll or crumble beneath her weight.
Still, they slid more than walked the last few yards down the cliffside, their faces and hands scratched from shoving through the underbrush. Mia was the smallest, so she moved quickest through the tangle of trees. She darted ahead from time to time, making sure they were going the right way.
Up close, the boulders were far bigger than they’d looked from the cliff, jutting from the ground like giant, hunchbacked sentinels. The moonlight made them glow pale white. Mia moved from stone to stone—each was nearly as tall as her apartment building back in Fuzhou.
“I think we’ve lost Ying,” Aunt Lin said. She squinted back the way they’d come.
Mia tilted her head and listened hard, but heard nothing more than the chirrup of nighttime insects, interrupted twice by the low bellow of a frog.
Jake joined Mia in her inspection of the great white boulders. They didn’t need to speak to know what they were searching for: a pattern like the ones they’d found while putting together the treasure map—a symbol letting them know what to do next.
Please let this be the spot, Mia thought, over and over again. Please let this be the spot. Please let this be the spot.
The moon was spotlight bright overhead, the night cloudless. Mia’s hands darted over every inch of the stones she could reach, looking for something, anything.
Her fingers brushed against something that wasn’t stone. Or stone that didn’t feel like normal stone, anyway—stone that had been polished smooth. It was half hidden beneath what seemed like years, maybe decades or even centuries, of dust and mud. Mia rubbed it clean with a bit of her shirt.
“Aunt Lin,” she called quietly, beckoning her closer. “Do you still have the flashlight?”
Her aunt did. The light flickered on and off for a few seconds before settling into a weak glow. It was just enough to see what Mia had found: a smooth bit of stone about the size of a man’s palm. One edge of it folded inward, forming a crevasse deep enough to fit Mia’s entire hand.
She stuck it inside, all the way up to her wrist, not quite sure what she expected to happen. Nothing did.
She tried yanking at the stone, then pushing it. Jake joined her, the two of them straining against the boulder. A shower of dust fell on Mia’s head, making her cough. But it was a sign, at least, that they were making progress.
Aunt Lin squeezed her hands in on top of theirs. On Mia’s “One, two, three!” they all heaved together, throwing their weight backward, pulling so hard that Aunt Lin’s arms trembled and Jake’s knuckles shone white and Mia thought her shoulders might pop right out of their sockets.
The stone groaned and shifted, and shifted some more.
A passageway yawned open behind it. A set of stairs descended into the bowels of the earth.
24
A TORCH HUNG ON THE stone wall only a few steps from the entrance. Seeing it gave Mia the same shivery feeling she’d felt at the foot of Zhu Yunwen’s grave. Someone had left that torch here for her—or someone like her—to find.
Jake slipped the torch free of its metal rack. He wrinkled his nose. “Some batteries for the flashlight might have been more useful.”
Wordlessly, Mia reached into her messenger bag and drew out her box of matches.
The farther underground they ventured, the colder it grew. The torch’s dancing flame cast shadowy twins of Mia, and Jake, and Aunt Lin, as if they shared this journey with ghostly versions of themselves. Maybe it was only Mia’s imagination, but the air did feel thick with ghosts, or spirits, or something.
Jake and Aunt Lin walked gingerly, as if they felt it too.
They came to the end of the stairs. Jake, lighting the way, was about to continue down the tunnel when Mia stopped him with a hushed, “Wait—there’s someone there, up ahead.”
Was it Ying, waiting for them in the shadows? Had he somehow made it to the treasure site ahead of them? Was there some other way in?
They waited, breath held. The figure, whoever it was, didn’t seem to have heard them. It didn’t seem to see their light either. In fact, it didn’t move at all—not even the natural shuffling and fidgeting of any person who’d stood in place too long.
“Stay here,” Mia whispered. Before anyone could stop her, she tiptoed to get a closer look.
The figure stayed frozen as she approached. Mia’s heart pounded, and she had to force herself forward the last few steps, stopping just out of arm’s reach.
She sighed in relief. It was only a statue.
Preserved here, in the cool darkness beneath the mountain, the figure seemed untouched by time. Mia made out the neat lines of his face, the carefully carved flow of his beard. The man was almost life-size—a good head or two taller than Mia. He stared blankly at the tunnel wall across from him, his expression a contemplative frown.
“Do you think it’s him?” she said as Aunt Lin drew up next to her and Jake brought the torch. “Zhu Yunwen?”
For a long moment, Aunt Lin seemed too overwhelmed to speak. She looked at the statue, then at the stairs they’d just descended, and then at the tunnel that still stretched before them. Her hands shook a little. Mia took one and squeezed it in comfort.
“I think it could be,” Aunt Lin said.
They moved onward, silence-bound. The history of the place hung around them like invisible cobwebs.
Abruptly, the tunnel turned a corner and ended, broadening into a room. And in the room, lit by the flame of their torch, lay an immensity of wealth like nothing Mia had ever seen before.
Golden necklaces piled on silver statuettes, their sinuous lengths embedded with precious jewels. Delicate jade sculptures of birds and beasts swam among strands of snowy pearls. Two golden dragons curled toward each other atop an ornate lacquered chest, clutching between them an enormous bloodred jewel.
Aunt Lin walked like a dreamer from one bit of the treasure trove to another. Her hands flitted toward a vase—a necklace—a statuette, never touching, just feeling at the air around it. A peal of laughter burst from her chest, ringing all the way up to the high ceilings.
“It’s real,” Jake said to himself, his voice hushed with awe. “It’s actually real.” He opened one of the chests and found it full of golden coins, each with a square hole stamped out of the center.
Marble columns stood at the edges of the room—which was truly a room, with a tiled floor and everything, not just barren rock wall. Even though Mia had been searching so hard for this—had hoped and hoped as she walked along the tunnel—coming across it so suddenly was like stumbling into an oasis after days in the desert.
She stayed by the threshold, giving herself a moment to take it all in.
A cold hand closed around her shoulder. By the time her brain registered the touch—had time to scream Run, Run!—it was already too late.
The hand yanked her backward. An arm snaked across her neck, pinning her against a man’s chest.
She squirmed and screamed, but it was no use—she only choked herself in his grip.
“Stop.” Ying’s voice rang out, low and harsh. His hand flashed. Something cold pressed against the side of Mia’s throat. A knife. “All of you—stop.”
Mia’s legs turned to water.
Aunt Lin looked bloodless in the torchlight, her face as pale as the moon. But she swallowed and spoke. “Let her go, Ying. You’ve found the treasure—here it is. Just let us go. We won’t tell anyone. Who would believe us?”
Ying stood silent and still. Or almost still—Mia felt the tiny tremors running through his arm. Whether he shook with excitement, or rage, or just madness, she wasn’t sure. She only knew that the knife in his grip shook too. That it was only millimeters from her skin. That one jerk of his hand would send it biting into her neck.
“What did I say?” he snapped when Jake shifted on his feet. His grip tightened around Mia’s throat, cutting off her air. “Nobody move.”
Jake froze. Ying relaxed his arm just a fraction, and Mia gasped for breath.
“Ying—” Aunt Lin started to say, but he cut her off savagely, yelling for her to shut up.
A moment later, though, he seemed to calm a little. At least, his voice did. The trembling in his arm and hands didn’t stop.
“You promise you won’t tell anyone?” he said.
Aunt Lin nodded. He looked over at Jake, who warily did the same. Mia could barely move her head. But he didn’t seem to be looking for a response from her anyway.
He took a step backward, dragging her with him. Then he reached into his pocket and took out two of the same plastic ties he’d used to bind everyone up back at the van. He tossed them to Jake.
“Tie your aunt to that column,” he told Jake. “Put her hands behind her. Hurry up.”
25
JAKE HESITATED, LOOKING FROM MIA to their aunt. Finally, his eyes shifted to Ying. “Why?” he said. “What’re you going to do?”
Ying took a sharp breath, like he was trying to keep his temper. “Tie up your aunt,” he repeated. “Then yourself. I’ll take the girl with me to get my van. Once I return, I’ll release you, and you’ll help me load this stuff into the back—as much as can fit. Then I’ll leave.”
“And we’ll stay here?” Jake said. “You’ll leave us alone?”
Ying nodded. “There’s a village not too far away. It won’t be hard to find once it’s daylight. You’ll be fine. But you have to tie up your aunt.”
“It’s all right, Jake.” Aunt Lin went to the column that Ying had pointed out and sat at the base of it. Her eyes never left Mia. “Do as he says.”
“He can’t just take her,” Jake protested. His eyes were very wide. His jaw clenched.
“Jake,” Aunt Lin said. “Please.”
Reluctantly, he came and did as he was told, binding Aunt Lin’s hands behind her with the plastic ties.
“Good,” Ying said once he was done. He motioned for Jake to move over a few columns. “Now yourself.”
“I can’t do it,” Jake said. “I can’t reach.”
Ying gave a growl of frustration, but it was obvious that Jake was telling the truth.
“Walk,” he said to Mia. He didn’t lift the knife from her throat. “Slowly.”
Step by cautious step, the two of them moved forward until they reached Jake. Mia saw that her brother was a hairbreadth from jumping at them—however badly that was likely to go. She gave him the tiniest shake of her head.
Jake was athletic and quick, but the man was much bigger and more broadly built. Plus, he had the knife. Mia didn’t want to think about the damage that blade could do to Jake with one slice.
“Turn around,” Ying told Jake. “Arms backward around the column—just like that. Go on, pull the tie tight.” The last bit was directed at Mia.
She thought about faking it, leaving Jake some room to free himself. But Ying kept urging her to pull tighter and tighter, until Mia knew Jake had no hope of escape.
Ying tugged her backward again, edging toward the doorway. Aunt Lin and Jake stared after them, and Mia saw reflected in their faces her own fear, and apprehension, and dread.
She didn’t believe what Ying said about letting them go afterward. She wanted to, but she didn’t.
Still, there wasn’t any choice. He yanked her into the tunnel, then up the stairs and out of the mountain, into the warm, moon-bathed clearing. He’d left the stone door open. He must have exhausted himself against that stone, to move by himself what had taken Mia, Jake, and their aunt to move together.
To Mia’s relief, he let the knife drop from her neck, folding the blade away and slipping it into his pocket. He grabbed her wrist, keeping her tethered to him as he strained against the boulder, shoving it back into place.
The monumental task took a while to accomplish. Which meant Mia had time to think.
It was hard. Her thoughts fumbled about in her head. Anytime she started planning a course of action, it got interrupted by the thought of Ying’s knife, or the memory of Aunt Lin and Jake bound to their columns, or the thought of what her mother was thinking back at the apartment—she’d be worried out of her mind by now. What would she do if they didn’t return tonight? Or tomorrow?
Or ever, at all?
The last thought shuddered through Mia like a storm, sucking all the strength from her limbs. She stumbled. Irritated, Ying wrenched her upright again, but his grip was looser this time. He was more focused on the stone.
Mia’s thoughts focused too. She’d jostled her bag as she fell. And she’d remembered, suddenly, what she still kept inside it: matches, her travel sewing kit, the compass Thea had given her—
And a little exploding firework. The one her uncle had bought for her during their nighttime walk. They shoot right up into the air, he’d said. So it had to pack quite a punch.
Especially if Mia shot it straight at someone.
She just needed the chance to light it.
But that chance wasn’t now. With one final heave, Ying thrust the boulder back into place, sealing off the treasure tomb. Mia had a sudden, horrible thought—was the door airtight? Even if she did manage to knock Ying out with the firework, she wouldn’t be able to move that door on her own. If the door was airtight, Aunt Lin and Jake would suffocate inside.
But she couldn’t let her thoughts drift that way. It only made her even more wild with worry. She had to think clearly, instead.
“Come on,” Ying said, and pulled her back toward the cliff, toward the van.
He held her by only one wrist, all his attention aimed at carving a path forward. Mia worked her bag open with her free hand and felt for the firework. Slipping it out of the bag little by little, she tucked it into the waistband of her jeans, covering it with her shirt. The box of matches was next, fitting neatly into her pocket.
By this point, they’d reached the base of the cliff. Ying still hadn’t given her an opening. She couldn’t strike a match with only one hand. Even if she managed to yank her hand from his without breaking her wrist, she’d have only a few seconds of freedom. Not nearly enough to do what she needed to do—strike the match, light the firework, aim it.
She needed Ying to release her on his own.
Which meant she needed him to think she was harmless—too distraught and scared to do anything but follow directions.
Mia had never been good at faking emotions she didn’t feel. Luckily, she didn’t need to fake any of her terror now. She let herself fall, wincing as the rocky ground banged against her knees.
“I can’t go so fast,” she said. “Please, my arm hurts. And my legs. I think I’m bleeding.”
“You’re fine,” Ying said gruffly.
Mia let herself cry, just a little. She hated to cry—it made her eyes itch and her head pound, and she always felt exhausted afterward. But she needed to play a role. So she took deep, shuddering breaths, and once the tears started, they had a life of their own and didn’t want to stop.
Ying ignored her crying as long as she kept walking. If she stopped, he yanked her moving again. So she didn’t stop. She trotted obed
iently behind him, her wrist limp in his grip.
By the time they reached the top of the cliff, Ying was barely holding on to her at all. His thoughts were obviously elsewhere, maybe trying to retrace his steps to his van, maybe trying to figure out which parts of Zhu Yunwen’s treasure he ought to carry away first.
Mia was compliant, sniffling.
Patient. Alert.
Watching for the right moment.
It came just as they reached the clearing where Ying had parked his van. He must have been worried he wouldn’t find it again after their headlong rush through the woods, because he huffed a breath of relief as he released Mia’s wrist to reach for his keys.
Now! Mia thought. Even as she thought it, she was pulling the box of matches from her pocket with one hand and tugging the firework from her waistband with the other. She drew a match free—swiped it against the side of the box—and set the firework’s fuse ablaze.
Ying turned at the sound of the match strike, confused. The befuddled look was still on his face as Mia aimed the firework at him, willing the fuse to burn faster—
It exploded from her hands. Ying leaped aside—just missed it as it shot past his ear, screaming into the dark sky, where it burst into a bloom of red sparks.
Mia’s throat closed. She’d missed. She’d missed, she’d missed.
Ying lunged for her, fury electric through every line of him. Mia dove out of the way—realized he’d dropped his keys in surprise when he’d dodged her firework. Without thinking, she scooped them up from the dirt.
She darted for the van. It had been her prison before, but now it was her sanctuary—her fortress. She tumbled inside and slammed the door shut. Locked it. Scrambled to the front seats and made sure the driver’s and passenger’s side doors were locked too.
Outside, Ying pounded against the van window, the force of it so brutal the whole vehicle shook. Mia moved to the back of the van again, trying to put distance between them, trying to find some other way to protect herself—because if Ying kept attacking the window like this, it would crack, it would break, and then what would she do?