Girl with Flying Weapons

by Aya Ling

  It was a dusty, murky place, reeking with the smell of sweat and urine. A few prisoners lay in their cells, oblivious to the outside world, but others made catcalls and leered at Hong and Golden Lotus. Hong made sure that her needles and darts were well within reach. Were she ever to visit a prison cell again, she would do well to don a disguise.

  Fang had a single cell for himself, courtesy of being the governor's son. When Hong and Golden Lotus approached, he sprang out of the straw bed.

  "What are you doing here?" he said, his voice low and urgent. "This is no fit place for you girls!"

  "Master!" Golden Lotus promptly burst into tears. "You… it must be awful, dreadful, terrible for you…"

  He did look like he had lost a good amount of weight. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was unkempt, his white linen prison uniform was coarse and filthy. He looked nothing like the handsome young man who had attracted the fancy of the Queen of Flowers.

  Hong stayed calm. "We wanted to see you. Golden Lotus, the sweets?"

  "Oh yes." Golden Lotus quickly dried her tears. "Here you are, Young Master, all your favourites: plum cake, almond cake, and red bean cake."

  "Young Master," Hong continued. "We've been trying to find the real killer to clear your name. Unfortunately, it isn't going as well as we hoped. Before you landed in jail," she lowered her voice, "did you manage to find anything?"

  Fang thought for a while. He relayed to her some facts, but nothing that she hadn't heard before, such as Opal's concealed debts and Yao's relationship with her.

  "Oh! Does that mean you'll eventually have to… have to…" Golden Lotus looked on the verge of crying again.

  "Don't worry about me," Fang said bravely. "It isn't that bad living here—well, it is pretty bad—but I'm sure they won't order my head. They just need to keep me inside because the magistrate's son hates me, and to let the public know that the magistrate has been doing his job."

  "But you're innocent," Golden Lotus cried. "I just know you are."

  "I am not going to give up," Hong said firmly. "We will all make every effort to exonerate you. Young Master, you deserve better than to be used for spite."

  She met his eyes squarely, and was half-gratified, half-dismayed to see the passion in his gaze. Were it not for the presence of others, and the fact that he was wearing filthy clothes in a filthy cell, she was pretty sure that he would have caught her in his arms and kissed her.

  Which she wouldn't mind, actually. But there were more pressing matters on hand.

  "I have to see Meng-Ting as well," she finally said, touching his elbow lightly. "Sifu made me promise to see to his meals."

  A slight look of disappointment crossed Fang's face, but he nodded. "Go to the second last cell. And Hong, you'll come visit again, won't you?"

  "I will."

  With a final gaze at her young master, Hong proceeded to Meng-Ting's cell. Unlike Fang, Meng-Ting did not have the luxury of having a room of his own. Three other prisoners shared his cell. Fortunately, they had been in prison too long and were too lethargic to hurl offensive remarks.

  "Are you all right?" Hong said anxiously. It wasn't long that Meng-Ting had been arrested, but already he looked terrible in the prisoner's clothes of rough material. He looked dishevelled and starved.

  "Awful. Dreadful. Please, give me one of my own poisonous pills so I can die."

  When Hong raised her eyebrows, Meng-Ting smiled. "The thought has crossed my mind, but I'm feeling a lot better now that you've arrived. Ooh, is that a roast chicken leg? I don't even recall eating this well in my prison-less days."

  "Thank Young Master Fang," Hong said. "The maids have been spending a lot more time in the kitchens so they can make sure he doesn't starve."

  "Lucky him," Meng-Ting grinned, tearing off some meat. When he finished the chicken, colour returned to his face. "I'm glad you came," he repeated, though this time he lowered his voice. "You see, I've been hoping you could look into this issue. I managed to talk a bit with Fang before we got separated, and there's something about the poisoning that strikes me as peculiar."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Fang tells me that there was a wine jar on the table when he found Yao. He had assumed Yao was poisoned by the wine—after all, the man was known to be a heavy drinker and is dangerously violent when he's drunk. Three-Steps-to-Hell may be as transparent as water, but it tastes extremely bitter. I can't believe that anyone would keep on drinking the wine when the taste is drastically changed."

  Hong pursed her lips. "Would it be possible that when Yao tasted the bitterness he stopped drinking, but the one sip he took was powerful enough to kill him?"

  "Then he should have spat out the wine, like all over the floor, but Fang said there was no trace of any spilt wine. Besides, if Yao spat out the wine, then the little poison he had should not have killed him. A baby, maybe, but definitely not a big, strong fighter. The most the poison would have done was to render him unconscious. Kind of odd, as I see it."

  Hong turned the matter over her head. Could it be—could it be that someone else had killed Yao when the poison had proved ineffective? Maybe Whirlwind Ko had come to check Yao's condition, and upon finding the star fighter weakened and unconscious, decided to do away the man who prevented him receiving the number one title?

  "I'll go question the coroner," she said.

  "Be quick! I'll perish if I continue to stay in this hell hole!"

  Once Hong and Golden Lotus departed, Fang sank on the cold, hard stone floor. The bed provided wasn't much better—the blanket was flimsy and ragged and had numerous holes and tears. Goodness knows how many unwashed, unkempt prisoners had used it before him. Yet, no matter how much the blanket repulsed him, he had to use it every time he slept, when frigid night air seeped in through the prison bars and the threadbare prison uniform he wore couldn't keep his teeth from chattering.

  It was miserable enough, but what worried him more was what fate awaited him. His father was still at the capital, and his brothers and sister so far had little success in getting him out. Even though he was certain that his life would not be forfeited, he had no idea what the magistrate would decide eventually. Unless they found the real murderer, it was unlikely he'd be let go without some form of punishment.

  Fang shivered. The basket that Golden Lotus and Hong brought still sat in a corner. Hong… how relieved he was that she didn't recoil at his frightful appearance. She had looked at him with compassion, touched him without hesitation, and told him that she believed in him. Even if she hadn't shown any romantic feelings for him yet, there was hope that he could make her love him. Already he missed her presence.

  There was the sound of keys jingling and footsteps approaching.

  Fang couldn't believe it… did Hong suddenly return?

  But his hopes were shattered. Ho Jiang-Min, the one person he possibly detested most in the world, was looking down at him, his expression smug.

  "Master Ho, are you sure you want to enter the cell?" the jailer asked, in an ingratiating, sycophantic manner. "The interior is too dirty for the soles of your shoes."

  "It'll only be a minute," Jiang-Min replied, smirking. "I couldn't exactly pass up a chance to re-acquaint myself with the noble governor's son, could I?"

  The jailor let out a chuckle, though his voice was wary when he spoke. "Well, let me know immediately if you need anything, Master Ho, if the prisoner gets out of hand…"

  The smirk vanished. "Are you saying that I can't handle a handcuffed man on my own?"

  "No! Of course not, my deepest apologies, sir, I'll just go." And the jailor disappeared, leaving Fang and Jiang-Min alone.

  "My, my." Jiang-Min shook his head. "Not as cocky as we're used to, eh? The chains on your wrists made a dent on your arrogance, eh?"

  Fang remained stoic. He could attack Jiang-Min if he wanted, but he knew well the consequences.

  "Hmm. I take back my words—you are still as arrogant as usual." Jiang-Min scowled. "You know, Fang, you've always anno
yed me. We aren't that different—about the same age and have a good standing, yet you flaunt your noble character as if I am the scoundrel."

  Fang still didn't speak, nor acknowledge his presence.

  "Quit pretending, you bastard!" Jiang-Min snarled, and pounded on the door with a fist. "You could have the time of your life—women, wine, wealth, anything! But you insist on being so disgustingly self-righteous—is it gonna earn you a plaque, huh?"

  Jiang-Min breathed hard, his chest heaving up and down. "You ought to be grateful, now that I am offering you a proposition. I can get you out of this cell, as long as you agree to my terms."

  Fang finally looked up. He still held nothing but contempt for the magistrate's son, but at the same time, he couldn't help wondering what proposition Jiang-Min had in mind.

  "That maid of yours who just came to visit—Golden Lotus is her name, huh? She seems pretty attached to you." Jiang-Min smiled nastily. "From that look of her, she's still a fresh young maiden. If you give her to me, I'll see that you're freed at once."

  Fang stood up. His eyes blazed.

  "No way."

  "What?" Jiang-Min looked flabbergasted. "You have scores of girls at home, and you can't even yield one for your freedom? "

  "None of my servants are to be given away like cattle on the market," Fang said firmly. "Especially not to vermin like you."

  Infuriated, Jiang-Min kicked him in the stomach—hard. Taken by surprise, and also weakened by his stay in the prison, Fang failed to dodge in time. He doubled up in pain, only to be hit again—this time on his shins, making him fall on the floor. Jiang-Min stepped on his hand, grinding his boot into Fang's palm.

  "Self-righteous prick," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "I have given you a chance. I was lenient. Since you want to play the hero," he stomped on Fang's hand, and the latter bit his lip to keep from yelping in pain, "then have it your way. Don't think your family can save you. Old Shue may be the governor, but the emperor is my brother-in-law. You'll never compete with that. Ever."

  He finished with a final kick on Fang's face, driving his head on the hard stone floor. Blood trickled down the side of his face. How he wished he could fight back, but his body was still in pain from the kicking and his hands were chained.

  "Hmph." Jiang-Min spat on his hair. "You look a complete wreck. Let's see if your pretty little maid'll still care for you when she comes next time."

  TWENTY ONE

  Hong found it hard to find the time to seek the coroner once she had returned from Old Man Liu's. Now that the maids were pouring their energy into cooking for Fang and preparing other necessities he might need in prison, they neglected their duties. The cook became cranky, and so did the laundress, and even the elder brothers were displeased when their rooms were not cleaned every day.

  "Girl!" the cook barked. "Are you going out again?"

  "Er… I…"

  "You have been gone for half the day! Are you a servant here or do I have to come and serve you now? Clear away the dirty dishes and wash them!"

  Hong swallowed her desire to go out. Crossing over to the table, she picked up the dishes.

  "Those maids," the cook grumbled. "How many of them are now packing food baskets? We have other people in the family!"

  Silently, Hong washed and cleaned. She could hear the cook's complaints but she did not take them to heart. While she smiled and nodded like a mechanical object, her mind was wandering elsewhere.

  If what Meng-Ting said was true—and she trusted him, so it must be true—she might have the chance to accuse Duel of Death of lying. If Three-Steps-to-Hell was not the cause of Yao's death, then Manager Liang and Potbelly's statement that Fang and Meng-Ting had worked together to poison Yao was false—deliberately so. But to expose them of lying, she had to get the coroner to give the evidence first.

  In the afternoon, Hong slipped out of the compound. Fortunately at this time, most of the higher-ranked servants were resting, leaving a few lower-ranked ones doing menial work.

  She knew that finding the coroner's place and interrogating him would take some time, so she decided to use someone else to ask for her. Hong found her target sitting cross-legged at one of the streets near Heavenly Pleasures. It was one of the beggar spies whom her sifu employed.

  "Good afternoon," Hong murmured, barely looking at the beggar. "I've something to ask of you."

  The beggar smiled. "Anything, anything! Please, give this unworthy one something so he may not starve."

  Hong bent down and placed two coppers in his begging bowl. At the same time, she managed to shove a folded piece of paper in his lap, which included her instructions.

  "This is half the payment up front," she whispered. "You shall receive the other half when you accomplish what I ask. I'll be back tomorrow at the same time."

  She left abruptly, hoping that she had chosen well. The beggar had had his fingers chopped off in a previous job, but he had developed adroitness with his legs and moreover, he was not deaf. If everything went well, she would have her information the following day.

  The beggar proved to be efficient. When Hong went to seek him the next day, he feigned an excessive amount of gladness at her altruism, and gave her the info on the same piece of paper.

  Hong ducked in a small alley, unfolded the paper, and began to read. The beggar's writing was atrocious, since he wrote with his right foot, but she had been communicating long enough with him to distinguish his "foot-writing" well enough.

  What she learnt made her decide to visit Old Man Liu immediately.

  "Sifu," Hong said, holding out the paper. "This is what I have asked one of your spies to find out."

  "What is this?" Old Man Liu grunted.

  "What the coroner had actually found out when performing the autopsy on Yao. He wasn't poisoned. At all. The wine jar containing the poison was untouched. Yao was probably killed before he had a chance to tear off the paper cap on the jar."

  Old Man Liu, who was holding a cup of tea, paused.

  "Not poisoned, you say? Then what was the cause?"

  "He says that there's a purple bruise on Yao's chest, the shape of a hand print. His inner organs are ruptured, but no bones are broken. "

  Splash! The tea cup Old Man Liu was holding fell on the ground, shattering into several pieces and drenching the hem of his robe.

  Immediately, Hong knelt and picked up the pieces, berating herself for not acting faster.

  "I'll go get a cloth," she said, meaning to clean up the soaked material of his robe, but Liu reached out and gripped her elbow firmly.

  "The Lost Manual," he rasped. "It's the Lost Manual! Someone has obviously used the power as dictated. That's why that Yao was so easily defeated."

  "Sifu," Hong began, feeling alarmed. When Old Man Liu had mentioned the Lost Manual, she had assumed it a legend, a story that was more fiction than fact. "You said that the Lost Manual has not been seen for twenty years. For all we know, there may be other forms of martial arts that can cause inner damage."

  The elderly man made a noise of impatience. "Tut, tut, you are still ignorant of the world of fighting arts! Did you not say that Yao is the best fighter in the city? That his body showed no trace of struggle, or resistance? Only a legendary work like the Lost Manual can deliver a fighting art powerful enough to defeat a brilliant fighter like that."

  He loosened Hong's elbow. "Girlie, now is our chance. Find out who killed Yao."

  A chill ran down Hong's spine.

  "Sifu, are you certain it is really the Lost Manual?"

  "Meng-Ting told you that Yao couldn't have consumed Three-Steps-to-Hell, didn't he? If not for the Lost Manual, what could have killed Yao?"

  Hong kept silent, not wanting to argue. How far-fetched the idea sounded! Theoretically, it was possible. But Old Man Liu hadn't even seen the body. How could he simply make a judgement based on what the coroner had said? Furthermore, even if what he guessed was true, how was she going to find the murderer?

  "Tell Meng-Cho
u to fashion a new weapon for you. Something that's truly fast and unexpected. That murderer with the Lost Manual is no picnic—he may possibly be the worst enemy you come across! When I asked you to do away with Yao, I already had some worries, since all the victims you have dealt with knew little about martial arts. But now things are different. One blow from the killer, and you're dead."

  "I will do my best with the weapons." Hong tried not to let fear seep into her tone. Even if it wasn't the Lost Manual, there was no question that the murderer possessed deadly skills.

  "Go and find Meng-Chou," Old Man Liu ordered. "Ask him if he still has those hollowed pens."

  "Hollowed pens?"

  Meng-Chou lived in a secluded part of town, away in a narrow alley. Few people actually passed by his shop unless they deliberately sought him. In this aspect, he was more similar to his grandfather, preferring peace and quiet as he worked as a carpenter. His handmade crafts were few but exquisitely made, earning a reputation among those who appreciated quality woodwork. Somehow the remoteness of his place did not deter customers.

  When Hong arrived, she found the shop empty. It was kept scrupulously clean for a man who lived by himself—Meng-Chou was the only man she knew who maintained such cleanliness. Only a small child sat in the shop, playing with a spinning top.

  "Hello, Little One," Hong said. She recognised the child as Ah-Mei, the eighth child of a big family. Ah-Mei was neglected often, so she preferred to come over to Meng-Chou's and play. "Is Mr. Liu working in the back?"

  "Right-o, Miss Hong." Ah-Mei jumped up and bowed, almost comically.

  Hong smiled and patted her head. "What a pretty top. Did Mr. Liu make that for you?"

  Ah-Mei nodded fervently. "Mr. Liu is so clever! I want to marry him when I grow up!"

  Hong laughed. "Then you have made a good start."

  She went out through the side door and into the back yard, where Meng-Chou was bent over a table, industriously carving a statue. Unlike Old Man Liu, however, Meng-Chou was never an astute listener. He was often so absorbed in his work that Hong had to say his name twice to get his attention.