by Katie Zhao
Longma’s black eyes filled with urgency—and fear. He lunged forward, forcing me to jump back and let go of the rope.
“It’s the Year of the Horse,” Ying Er said, her voice startling me with its hardness. “You should be honoring these magnificent creatures, not locking them up.”
“Hey, it wasn’t my idea.”
“Besides, this horse is extra special.” Ying Er stepped toward Longma and whispered something in his ear. Unless my eyes were deceiving me, the horse nodded, like he understood her words.
“Um … what’re you doing?” I asked.
“Indeed, what a majestic beast you are,” Ying Er breathed, her eyes blazing with a frightening intensity. Maybe she did have something in common with Mao.
“Okay, don’t do anything crazy now,” I said nervously. “Just back away from the horse. Nice and slow.”
Ying Er pulled out of her pocket something that glinted in the sunlight—a pocketknife—and sliced through the horse’s ropes.
“No!” I lunged for the torn rope, but Longma shook it off and raced out of the stable.
“There. Much better.”
Longma kicked up his hooves, letting out a joyous neigh. He sprinted out of the stable toward the woods. I ran after him, but he was too fast. Within moments the trees absorbed Longma’s white flank.
I whirled on Ying Er, who was still smiling and looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Why did you do that?”
“I did him a favor. Now Longma is free to find his true family.”
“Not if animal control picks him up first,” I groaned.
Forget decorating for the New Year. I needed to decorate for my funeral. Once she realized her prized horse had disappeared, Moli was going to kill me.
I should’ve known anyone related to Mao would only stir up more trouble for me.
It was dark when Ying Er and I finished, and even darker by the time Ye Ye, Alex, and I headed over to the banquet, the smell of my grandfather’s nián gāo making my mouth water. Ye Ye made the same sticky rice cakes every year for Mao’s banquet, and they were always a hit.
Doors slammed around us as neighbors poured into the courtyard, seating themselves at four long tables draped in tablecloths of deep crimson red.
Mao greeted guests in a red floral qí páo, a high-necked, formfitting traditional dress usually reserved for special events. The mistress’s brain must have frozen from the cold, because she forgot to be horrible to us.
“Put the nián gāo there.” She pointed at a spot on the table between a tray of dumplings and a plate of bok choy. “The banquet is about to start. Go sit down, won’t you? Ying Er should be around.” Mao barely glanced at me before plastering on a smile for the next family. “Mr. and Mrs. Xiong,” she said warmly. The short man and his considerably taller wife nodded at Mao, and gave Alex and me a friendly smile, too, but Mao quickly showed them away from us. “Are those your spicy noodles? They’re a favorite every year …”
A group of men emerged from the training hall, hoisting something big onto their shoulders. Grunting and heaving, they thrust the object into the grass in the middle of the four tables. A hush fell over the crowd as people turned to admire the object: a gleaming spear, black as night, with a thick, double-edged blade attached to one end. They kept the weapon encased in glass.
“Fenghuang,” Ye Ye breathed. “Beautiful as always.”
Legend told that the weapon, named after the phoenix, had been forged underwater by the Dragon King of the East Sea, one of the four dragon gods who looked over the seas for the Jade Emperor. Fenghuang had only one equal on Earth—Ruyi Jingu Bang, a weapon that had disappeared centuries ago. I would never get to wield such an incredible weapon.
Fenghuang had once belonged to Guan Yu, slayer of one thousand demons and the only mortal warrior in two thousand years to become a general for the gods. The spear was too heavy for any mortal to lift alone—except for Guan Yu’s destined successor, who would be called the Heaven Breaker. This warrior would prove their worth to the gods, follow in Guan Yu’s footsteps, and command the Jade Emperor’s army of immortal soldiers—as well as all dragons.
Even Mao still touted the Society’s long-held belief that becoming Heaven Breaker, receiving the deities’ accolades, and serving the Jade Emperor would be the highest honor any of us could receive.
So that was why every year the young warriors lined up to try to claim Fenghuang as their own. And every year, we all watched them make fools out of themselves.
“I wonder if anyone will be able to lift Fenghuang this time,” Ye Ye said.
“Doubt it,” Alex scoffed. “But watching these idiots fail is good dinner entertainment. I wonder who’ll end up in the hospital this year.”
Laughter filled the air as aunties and uncles caught up with each other, gossiping about whose children had or hadn’t made it into an Ivy League school. A group of small kids shrieked as they chased one another around the oak trees. I thought of Ah Wen the dumpling-thrower and the nián from the night before, and I had to shake my head. All thoughts of demons could get lost until I had my first plate of traditional Chinese food.
Everyone sat by unofficial rank. Important people, like Mao and the retired warriors and their wives, sat around the table closest to the food. These leaders were the figureheads of the Jade Society. The young warriors took their places at the two tables farthest back. Of course, none of these warriors had ever seen a real battle with a demon. But the Society still praised them for … well, basically doing nothing.
Ying Er was nowhere to be seen, and the only open spots were next to Moli and her posse of overachieving girlfriends. They’d donned their best dresses for the occasion, wearing billowy, glistening semiformal gowns under expensive fur coats, funded by their parents’ high-paying jobs as doctors, engineers, and lawyers. Next to them, I felt way underdressed in my simple jeans and brown down jacket.
When we sat down beside them, the girls not-so-subtly gave us a wide berth, although some of them gave us pitying looks. I knew they were too scared of Mao to sit next to us, but the snub still stung.
Alex sat next to Moli and stuck his tongue out at her. She fumed and turned away.
Alex rolled his eyes and mouthed, “She’s totally into me.”
I groaned. The poor kid had had a crush on Moli since he was five years old. Talk about not being able to take a hint.
Before I could smack some sense into Alex, a hush fell over the families. In the center of the courtyard, one by one, the young warriors tried and failed to lift Fenghuang.
Luhao kicked at the weapon until one of the men had to stop him from breaking his toe. Wang had wised up from last year’s failure; he hooked the spear to the back of his father’s motorcycle and tried driving off with it. To his credit, I think Fenghuang shifted a centimeter, but at the cost of Wang nearly crashing into the nearest apartment building’s lobby.
“It’s just an old legend,” Luhao said as he and his friends ducked their heads to the laughter of the aunties and uncles. “Bet it’s all made up.”
Ye Ye’s eyes urged me to try to lift the spear, but I didn’t have a social death wish. Not only was I part of a family of outcasts, but I was a girl, and no other girls ever tried to lift the spear, anyhow. Next to me, Alex’s nose wrinkled. Ye Ye hadn’t given my brother the same look he’d given me. I would’ve tried to comfort him—tell him being the Heaven Breaker was stupid, and a high-stress job with no health care at that—but I didn’t want Moli or the other girls to overhear.
Moli, meanwhile, offered the perfect distraction.
“So I finally met Wang’s girlfriend of two months, Wendi Tian,” she said. Her friends leaned in as if this was the juiciest bit of gossip they’d heard all year.
“Are the rumors true?”
“Is Wendi as beautiful as that Chinese actress Fan Bingbing?”
“Did she really play piano at Carnegie Hall?”
Moli pointed toward the table with all the food. “Why don’t y
ou ask her yourself?”
I craned my neck and managed to pick out Wang’s girlfriend. Wendi’s petite frame was dwarfed by Wang’s form on one side, and Luhao’s on the other. She had big, dark eyes and long, silky black hair. Her looks fit Mao’s definition of the ideal Chinese wife.
Wendi’s eyes narrowed when they met mine.
“Whatcha readin’?”
A too-innocent voice startled me, and my attention shifted. Luhao. He’d swaggered up behind Alex and leaned his head over my brother’s shoulder. The jerk never got tired of reminding Alex that he wasn’t as tough as the other boys in the Society. But at least Alex wasn’t as knuckleheaded as them, either.
“None of your business,” Alex snapped, his fingers clenching the edges of the notebook.
“None of Your Business? That’s my favorite.” Luhao tore the book out of Alex’s hands and dove out of the way when my brother tried to snatch it back. “What are these funny maps?”
My fists bunched at my sides. “Hey!”
“You idiots aren’t still chasing some stupid dream of finding Peng Lai Island, are you? Your father couldn’t do it, and you’ve only got half the warrior blood in your veins. No way you can.”
Alex’s face reddened. “Give it back!”
“Luhao, don’t you have to go steal lunch money from six-year-olds or something?” I asked.
Luhao’s sneer widened as his eyes flickered from us toward Mr. Yang, who was staring at his son with cold approval. Some of the other adults shifted uncomfortably in their seats but said nothing.
Mr. Zhao rose from his seat with a glower. “Hey, cut that out,” he said. Around him, Mr. and Mrs. Xiong stood up, too, shouting their agreement.
If Luhao heard the adults’ warning, he didn’t heed it. “I’d much rather destroy your little fantasy book.”
Rip. Rip. Rip. Luhao tore the thin, weathered binding in half, scattering pages all over the floor.
Each shredded page felt like a tear in my heart. My father’s work, all his travels and research, lay in pieces.
“There. It’s as good as new.” Luhao laughed like he’d told the funniest joke on the planet.
“Dude.” Wang came up behind his friend, a frown on his face. Wendi stood right next to him with a sinister expression. I blinked, and then it was gone, replaced by a piteous look. “That was too far, don’t you think? You didn’t have to do that.”
Luhao glanced from Wang to his girlfriend, his eyebrows pulled together. But within seconds, he was smirking again. “You’re right. I didn’t mean to do that. My hand must have slipped.”
Blood thundered in my ears as my brother scrambled to gather up the pages. My arm whipped toward Luhao. “You—”
A hand reached out and blocked my attack. Ye Ye held me back, grasping my trembling fist firmly in his hand.
“Ye Ye, this piece of scum just destroyed Ba’s work!”
“I don’t condone his actions,” Ye Ye said coldly, “but I don’t condone violence, either.” His pinched-up brows, thin lips, and unblinking eyes told me he was in Super Saiyan Grandpa Mode. “Yang Luhao, the gods are watching. Your unkind actions will be your undoing one day.”
Ye Ye bent down to help Alex gather up the last of the pages. After a moment, so did Wang and Wendi.
“Too bad you won’t live long enough to see my undoing, you old fart,” Luhao retorted.
“Luhao!” Wang hissed.
My vision flooded with red. I stood up and prepared to deliver Luhao’s first course to him: a knuckle sandwich.
An unseen force wrenched Luhao backward. The boy stumbled and butt-planted onto the ground. Some of the girls laughed. But the laughter faded into gasps as the torn pages from Ba’s notebook zipped out of Alex’s and Ye Ye’s hands and hovered in the air above our heads. A burst of light claimed the pages, leaving a glowing, newly bound book hovering in the air. The black notebook floated into Alex’s limp, outstretched hand.
Some of the teens started screaming, while the younger kids shouted with excitement.
An unfamiliar man stood behind us. At the sight of his glowing form, more people gasped and pressed their hands against their mouths. Mr. Xiong knocked over a whole table in his shock. Someone fainted. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I was seeing properly.
The man wore deep-plum-colored robes and clutched a familiar, wicked-looking black spear with a three-pointed, double-edged blade. He appeared to be a normal twenty-something-year-old Chinese guy, except he was big, buff, and brutish, with a weathered, scarred face.
And unlike the rest of us, he had a third eye in the middle of his forehead.
CHAPTER
5
The man surveyed the banquet with a dismissive look on his face. Then Mao did something I’d never seen her do before. She rushed over and knelt before him, her entire body shaking.
“W-welcome to our banquet, E-Erlang Shen, nephew to the J-Jade Emperor, and h-his most fearsome and f-f-frightening fighter.”
Erlang Shen—the god of war Ye Ye, Alex, and I had prayed to just earlier today. Mao had always said the gods left us alone because they saw how powerful we were on our own. Yet here she was now, groveling on the floor in front of Erlang Shen. So much for being the respected leader of a warrior society.
Gasps echoed in the courtyard. Mr. Yang fell out of his seat, but no one dared to laugh at one of the Jade Society’s wealthiest men as he scrambled back onto his stool.
All eyes were on Erlang Shen as Mao led the god to the table with all the food. Surrounded by pork buns, dumplings, noodles, and many more dishes, Erlang Shen sat at the head of the table like a king.
A god, right here in the Jade Society. This proved they hadn’t abandoned us—Ba had been right all along.
“I knew this day would come,” Ye Ye whispered. His hands trembled where they gripped the table’s edge. “The gods haven’t attended our banquet since before we immigrated to America, but I knew they’d never forsake their warriors.”
As fathers and mothers, warriors and scholars put their heads together to whisper, Mao seemed to decide that she’d handle this highly unusual circumstance by trying to act like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. She poured Erlang Shen a cup of tea, but her hands shook so badly that she spilled all over her red tablecloth.
“Humans. Hundreds of years, and your kind hasn’t wised up one bit,” snorted Erlang Shen. He put up a dainty pinkie as he sipped on a cup of oolong that Mao had just poured him. Then he lifted his nose and took a whiff of the air, recoiling with a pinched-up expression. “Don’t get any nicer-smelling, either. This is why we deities never want to leave Heaven.”
Mao turned her nose down to her shoulder and sniffed it.
Although the god clearly thought none of us could hear his mutterings, his voice was so sonorous that it was impossible not to. “But at least you warriors still get to fight your own fights. I’m always getting bossed around like some personal servant, forced to take care of the most mundane tasks on Earth. I’m sick of it. I’m the god of war! I should be rallying warriors to fight demons, not attending silly banquets!”
As Erlang Shen continued his not-so-subtle rant, a commotion parted the crowd. The Five Elders, the oldest and baldest men living in the Jade Society, paraded past us, on their way to take their usual seats at the front table. Then they stopped, stunned, at the sight of the three-eyed god.
Erlang Shen patted the stools next to him. “Come. I don’t bite.”
The Elders looked at one another and shrugged. I guessed when you were that old, stuff like random visits from deities didn’t bother you anymore. Stuff like beard hygiene didn’t bother these old men, either. They spent more time napping and growing their beards than actually attending to their elders’ tasks, like meditating and communicating with the gods.
“Here, Xiao Tian Quan.” Erlang Shen whistled. A dog barked in response. I watched, wide-eyed, as a familiar greyhound swooped down on a cloud and landed on the table in front of Erlang Shen, upending the spicy nood
les.
It took me a moment to process where I’d seen the dog. I gasped.
Erlang Shen’s hound had helped his owner and me take down the nián in the alleyway. If Xiao Tian Quan was here, his owner couldn’t be far. Not even a foot away from him, probably.
When my gaze met Erlang Shen’s, I stared into a pair of black eyes. The black eyes of the warrior god. And also the black eyes of the old man with two swords.
“It can’t be,” I breathed.
“I know, I’m in shock,” Alex said, fanning himself with Ba’s notebook. “Erlang Shen and Xiao Tian Quan. They’re legends. Do you think Erlang Shen will sign my forehead?”
“I doubt Erlang Shen, nephew to the Jade Emperor, will want to go near you,” Moli said loftily. Alex’s face fell.
My hands curled into fists at my side. Punching Moli in a god’s presence probably wouldn’t be the brightest idea, but I made a mental note for later. That’s punch number three hundred ninety-two that I owe her. If Moli thought I wasn’t keeping track, she was sorely mistaken. Emphasis on sorely.
Erlang Shen examined the tables of people. A tense silence filled the courtyard, broken only by Ye Ye’s coughs and my growling stomach. At the next table over, the boys eyed the food like predators zeroing in on their prey.
But the god took no notice of our hunger. “I’ve come on behalf of the Jade Emperor, bearing a proclamation.”
Erlang Shen pulled something out of his ear—a tiny golden object. He blew on it, and it grew into a scroll. The warrior god unfurled it and cleared his throat.
“Last night, the gods sensed a presence we have been seeking for two thousand years. The Heaven Breaker stirs among you.”
Alex’s book thudded onto the table. Everyone turned their gazes toward the black spear in the middle of the courtyard.
“Who is it?” cried Mao. “Who’s the Heaven Breaker?”
She wrapped her arm around Wang as though prepared to shower him in hugs and kisses the moment the god announced the Heaven Breaker was her son.