Girl with Flying Weapons

by Aya Ling

  Contents

  Girl with Flying Weapons

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Afterword

  Other books by Aya

  About the author

  GIRL WITH FLYING WEAPONS

  (Girl with Flying Weapons #1)

  Most people know Hong as a soft-spoken servant girl who works at the governor's house.

  Few know her as a skilled martial artist who trains in secret by a blind assassin.

  When the governor's son, who has a crush on her, is accused of murder, Hong risks not only blowing her cover, but also her own life when trying to discover the real killer.

  Loosely based on a tale written in ninth-century China, Girl with Flying Weapons combines elements of mystery, suspense, and romance. It is the first book of a series.

  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  Copyright © 2013 by Aya Ling

  No part of this document may be reproduced without written consent of Aya Ling

  ONE

  On a clear moonlit night, the Yang-tse River was aglow with several golden boats bedecked with flowing silk curtains and exquisitely painted windows. Laughter and cheers rang out as goblets were passed around and filled to the brim. For many of the rich and wealthy, nighttime offered a better excuse to be decadent, indolent, and free of social regulations. Although the Tang dynasty was now less prosperous than it used to be, the southern area, which was not wrecked by war, still retained some of its former splendour.

  On one of the biggest boats, melodious music was dripping through the air, as intoxicating and sweet as the ruby red wine poured into semi-transparent goblets. A courtesan, around the age of eighteen, sat on the rear of the boat, her head modestly bowed, her long slender fingers moving on the lute. Her makeup was done in the latest fashion—cheeks powdered with ceruse, eyebrows painted in indigo blue, a beauty mark in the shape of a crescent moon drawn on her forehead. Her midnight-black hair was pinned up like a small mountain, and adorned with several golden hairpins. Large, luminous pearls glowed on her earlobes.

  She was beautiful, though by no means outstanding. Her lute music, however, was extraordinary.

  When she finished the song and bowed, the applause was tumultuous.

  "Another song! Another one!"

  A man who looked about fifty waddled through the audience. A few had to stand aside for him to pass; the man was clearly drunk. Drops of wine splashed down his front and dripped on the floor. Yet no one dared to tell him off.

  It was Chu, the richest businessman in Yangzhou city. He made a fortune producing and selling salt. As salt was a staple in food, his income could rival the salaries of the highest-ranking officials at court.

  "So… tempting…" he slurred. "Such… a pity… to be in the whorehouse… why don't you come with me?"

  The courtesan kept her head down. Pieces of jade dangling from her hairpins swayed lightly. It was difficult to gauge if she were frightened or shy.

  Chu burped, spread his arms, and lunged forward.

  She moved—not fast, yet deft enough to miss his arms by a hair's breadth. Chu's sleeve brushed past her shoulder as he pitched forward and almost ended up leaning half of his body out of the boat.

  He shook his head and let out a hiccup. Seeing that she made to leave, he reached out to her again, this time determined that she should not evade his embrace.

  She ducked. For a second, her gossamer sash, like a yellow mist, fluttered before his face and he caught a whiff of her perfume. Yet why couldn't he touch her? His arms met air and he lost his balance, tumbling on the floor.

  The courtesan was still holding the lute, looking down at him.

  "Mr. Chu, I am afraid you had too much to drink," she said sweetly.

  "Nonsense!" he blurted, trying to get up.

  She extended her hand, caught the folds of his long sleeves, and helped him up.

  "Is it true," she breathed near his ear, "that the wife of the bricklayer Dong-Fong is at your residence?"

  She was so near, so tempting… Chu didn't even think.

  "Yes, but…"

  "You're tired," she interrupted, and her fingers brushed lightly across his shoulder blades. "Please allow me to assist you to rest."

  She smelled of peach blossoms and wine. Chu tried to grope her—how slender and shapely her waist looked! But for some dastardly reason, he couldn't lift his arms. He couldn't touch her. Had the wine numbed his senses?

  The courtesan had her arm around his waist, half-carrying him toward the rooms built on the boat. It was obvious what they were heading for. Except for a few envious glances, most could only sigh and wish they made as much as Chu did.

  Near dawn, a boat man was up and preparing for the day. His job was to escort people across the river, and though it was still ridiculously early, there were people who needed a ride, especially those who were arriving from another town.

  There was something wrong with the waters. Something large—too large to be a duck, yet too small to be a raft—was floating on the river. The unknown object drifted nearer. It was a human body, the skin bluish and purplish and coming off the flesh.

  "Aaargh!"

  Soon, the word spread like fire through Yangzhou city. Chu Tou, the affluent salt merchant whose personal assets rivalled aristocrats, and who was known for luring and abducting young women into his household, had somehow lost his balance in a bout of heavy drinking and fallen into the river.

  All was quiet at the compound of Governor Shue Song except for an owl suddenly taking off from a large oak tree.

  The owl, however, did not fly away from a mere impulse. A figure in a black cloak had darted to the tree, which was leaning against the high wall around the compound, and swiftly climbed up and hid in the leafy branches. Making sure that no one was in the back yard, the black-clad figure hoisted herself onto the wall and jumped down. She landed on the ground as lightly as though she were a cat.

  In a flash, she reached the servants' quarters, which were located in the northeast corner of the back yard. There was a small door in the high wall, convenient for the servants to pass through when they came back with purchases, but of course it was locked and barred during the night.

  At the very end of the servants' quarters, right next to the storage shed, was her own room. She didn't even consider entering through the door—it was locked as well. She merely pushed up the shutters and leaped in through the window.

  It was nearing dawn by now; though it was still dark, through the narrow opening she had left in her window, she could make out the furnishings of her room. She took off a bundle she had been carrying on her back and stashed it under her bed. It contained the fine clothes and ornaments she had worn just a few hours earlier. She liked the lute she had used, but it was too bulky to carry around. Besides, it belonged to the whorehouse.

  The girl held up a round bronze mirror and started to remove her makeup. In her haste to return home, much of the powder and rouge was smeared and smudged. But it was of small consequence; she had accomplished her mission.

  She soaked a wad of cotton in water and dabbed at her face, rinsing off the powder and lipstick. With make
up, she was beautiful and alluring, like a painted doll. Now, with her face clean and her hair free of ornaments, she still looked pretty, but by no means would she stand out in a crowd. Her eyes were of a perfect almond shape, but she lacked a crease in her eyelids, which made her look plain. She had an attractive heart-shaped face with a small mouth, but her nose was too flat. Her complexion was all right—her skin was smooth and white, but it didn't possess a shell-pink hue like some of her peers'. She had to rely on rouge for a glowing skin.

  It didn't matter, anyway. One didn't need to be good-looking to excel in her job. Acute eyesight and sharp hearing were more important. Still, it helped when one had to disguise as a courtesan.

  She made a mess of her things in the room, and climbed into bed. In a distance, a rooster crowed.

  TWO

  The sound of hooves clattered over cobbled stones as the third son of Governor Shue returned home. Fang was a young man around twenty, tall and broad-shouldered and bronze-skinned. A handsome fellow, with eyes the colour of ripe blackberries, high cheekbones, and a strong, aristocratic chin, he turned many a girl's head when he rode by. He wore a long, flowing red cape, an expensive black leather belt, and boots of deer hide. He looked just everything a young man of privilege should be—well-groomed, virile, and confident. Another young man followed him, also similarly attired in hunting clothes.

  "Young Master!" A servant rushed from the stables to take the horse. "How was the expedition?"

  "Several hares, two wild pheasants, and a mountain deer. We'll be having a feast tonight."

  "Your father will be pleased to hear it."

  Fang grinned. Turning to the young man behind him, he asked, "Chow, you're joining us for tonight?"

  The man shook his head and tossed a large sack of game at him. "You're welcome to my share."

  "Ah, you're in a hurry to be home?" There was a mischievous gleam in Fang's eyes. "Can't wait to see Opal? One whole year and you're still like glue together?"

  "Quit it." Chow pretended to swipe at him, though a blush spread over his face, right down to his neck. "Rather than making fun of a married man, why don't you concentrate your energy on wooing your girl, instead? Last time I've heard, you didn't even have the gumption to present her a gift."

  "You know she isn't the type to be swayed by expensive gifts," Fang said, though his jubilant mood waned slightly. "But I have plans. Just wait and see."

  "I'll look forward to the wedding day," Chow said with a smile.

  "Me too!" the servant, who was still standing nearby, echoed.

  With a glare at both men, Fang removed his cape and handed over the reins. "I need a bath. Tell the servants to draw up hot water immediately."

  "Right away, Young Master!"

  When Fang emerged from his bath, all spruce and clean, he called for Shu-Mo, a manservant who was only a few years his junior. Shu-Mo had worked in the household since he was a child and had practically grown up with him. Sometimes they were more like friends than master and servant.

  "I need your opinion." Fang held up a jade belt hook and a gold pendant. "Which one do you think looks better on me?"

  Shu-Mo couldn't help chuckling. Fang, usually so confident and assured, was actually looking nervous, and Shu-Mo knew the reason why.

  "I believe jade is more—er—sophisticated, Young Master," he replied with a grin. "It's what Master Shue himself usually wears."

  Fang considered a moment. "Yes, I think you're right." He fastened the hook on his belt and ran a hand through his hair. "Do I look all right?"

  "Oh, surely you'd rather hear it from the lady than me." Shu-Mo winked. "All right, our Young Master is positively ravishing." Then, with a touch of reluctance, he added, "At least several maidservants I know are eager to gain your attention. Silver Peony begged me the other day to have the privilege of changing your bedsheets and sweeping the floor of your room."

  Fang grinned, but soon his shoulders slumped. He knew he was good-looking, but it was hard to tell if the girl he wanted to impress would be drawn by his looks alone. He highly doubted it; they had lived under the same roof for ten years, yet she never giggled, batted her eyelashes, or pretended to drop her handkerchief when she was around him.

  "Well, send for Hong now. Tell her that I want to hear her play the song that she performed at Eldest Brother's wedding feast."

  When Shu-Mo hurried away, Fang dropped in a chair and tried to think of what to say when she arrived. Then he shook his head and laughed. It was absurd, him being worried about how a maidservant should see him.

  But then she was no ordinary maid. Hong had come from a noble family, but her father had lost favour with the emperor and been thrown into prison. His compound and possessions had been confiscated, and Hong and her mother had been sold as slaves. Were it not for the compassion of his father, Governor Shue, it was likely that they would have ended up in a brothel.

  He didn't know how long he had been drawn to her. It seemed strange, since there were so many pretty maids in the house, and considering his looks and status, he could pick anyone, or several. A couple of his brothers did just that—taking several concubines in addition to one wife, and still frequenting the brothel. Hong didn't stand out either—Golden Lotus was prettier, Silver Peony was more solicitous, but something inexplicable about Hong attracted him.

  Fang cast his gaze over the garden outside. There was a magnificent pine tree just a few paces from his room, stretching over a small pond with pink lotus flowers floating on the still waters. Eleven years ago, he had been first introduced to Hong, right under this tree. His nanny had been friends with Hong's mother, who had occasionally paid a visit to the governor's house.

  He could still remember seven-year-old Hong, with round pink cheeks and pink ribbons in her black hair, peering shyly at him behind her mother. He remembered how his nanny, Nurse Chang, had taken his hand and told him to "be nice to the little sister and show her around."

  He remembered their first game: playing hide-and-seek in the garden. He had turned his back against her as he leaned into the pine tree and counted from one to twenty. He remembered she had wanted to catch the yellow butterflies hovering near the peony bushes, and he had asked for a net. He remembered sharing a big ripe pear with her, simply because neither of them could finish the pear on their own.

  They had only played together a few times, but he had always looked forward to her visits.

  However, everything had changed when Hong's father was persecuted.

  Fang never forgot the day when his father had taken him for a walk, and right in the city centre was a display of slaves for sale. He noticed Hong right away—even though her clothes were dirty and tattered, her skin smudged with dirt, her hair bushy and unkempt.

  When she had entered the Shue household, still a child of eight, she was quiet and reserved. She never complained or demanded special treatment. Sometimes he would hide and watch her practise the lute. He loved the serene, calm expression she wore, and the lovely music that seemed to flow from her heart, not just from her fingers.

  But he was clueless on how to approach her. Although Hong was technically a servant, she had gained favour in his father's eyes. Shue Song allowed her to transcribe and sort books for him, and treated her well. When an elderly relative demanded to buy Hong, Shue had tactfully refused. He would not have Hong removed if she was unwilling.

  Which was why even Fang, the governor's son, who could have any maid in his service, could not simply order Hong to come to him. Not that he would force any maid to be his concubine, anyway. Shue had long ago taught him that he should never abuse his power as one of the masters in the house.

  Fang sighed. In a way, he preferred to court Hong, like the heroes in the romances he read. But Hong treated him just the same as everyone else. She was reserved, polite, and respectful around him—which only made things more frustrating. He didn't know what he could do to make her notice him, to realise that he was not simply a childhood friend. He wanted to make her his,
keep her by his side, rather than seeing her serve his family and allowing them a share in her attentions. It was time to do something.

  When Shu-Mo returned, Fang sat up. "Where is she?"

  "She said she was feeling unwell." Shu-Mo looked sorry for his young master. "She begs that you excuse her today, but should you require another time, she would be happy to be of service."

  "Is it serious?" Fang demanded. "Has a physician been sent for her?"

  "No, she said it was just a cold. It isn't a big deal, but she doesn't want Young Master to be infected."

  "I see." Fang slumped back in his chair.

  Great. Just when he got up the nerve to request her to play, something that normally only his father commanded, she happened to fall ill.

  "It's not that she refused you." Shu-Mo tried to comfort him. "She promised to play another time."

  Fang scowled. "Be off and leave me be."

  Still, when the door closed behind him, Fang did feel that he had to make an extra effort. There was talk of his father taking Hong for a mistress, now that she was eighteen and of marriageable age. From what he could observe, Shue Song did treat Hong differently, but Fang was certain that if Hong was unwilling, his father would not force her. If only he could make her notice him soon…

  Fang called another maid. "Golden Lotus? Have a bowl of chicken broth sent to Hong."

  In her room, Hong turned over and adjusted her position on the wooden pillow. She had only slept for two hours last night. Worried that everyone would see the dark circles under her eyes, not to mention that her back ached horribly from the mad ride overnight, she decided to feign illness. It wasn't too hard—she pulled strands of hair over her face and pitched her voice low. She wasn't looking too well anyway, from a serious lack of sleep and a huge expenditure of energy.

  She put a hand on her forehead, thinking. Just a while ago, Shu-Mo had rapped on her door, telling her that the young master wanted her attention. She had faked a throaty voice and told him she was sick. It had worked this time, but she couldn't go on pretending she was sick every time she made a nightly excursion.