The Dragon Warrior

by Katie Zhao

  “Whoa, steady, horses!” Moli yanked on the reins, but it seemed she’d lost control of the chariot. “Don’t land there, idiots!”

  But the horses wouldn’t listen. We jerked toward the ground, and my stomach churned. As the horses panicked, I was reminded of Guanyin’s earlier words about the gods’ blessing weakening—near demons. I gulped.

  A huge jolt nearly tossed me out of the chariot when we’d landed. I immediately spotted a skyscraper-tall black pagoda in the center of a small Chinatown. A long line snaked out the temple door and down the street.

  Despite the fact that it was winter, the air in Phoenix was warm and dry.

  The area where we’d landed was a metropolitan sprawl for the most part, with tall, glassy buildings, but in the distance I could see cacti and a desert landscape surrounding us. The streets of Chinatown were lined with run-down grocery stores and restaurants that had colorful green-and-red pagoda tops and curved eaves. The horses seemed to be back in familiar territory. They neighed and plodded forward.

  Now that we were on the ground, the gods’ blessings no longer shielded us, judging by the fact that people were screaming and scattering to get out of our way, dropping armfuls of food and incense sticks onto the ground.

  “Clear out! Important people coming through,” Moli shouted, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she urged the horses onward.

  “The gods have answered our prayers!” gasped an elderly Asian woman. She pointed her walker at us. “I just wished for horses, and here they are. It’s a miracle.”

  Gasps echoed throughout the streets.

  “The gods?” a younger man behind her demanded. “Are those the gods?”

  Everyone from the children to elderly fell to their knees before us.

  A flash went off in my face. I blinked. A girl wearing a huge infinity scarf and too much eye makeup had taken a selfie with the chariot. “I’m filming live outside the temple in Chinatown, where the gods just dropped out of the sky.”

  “Hold on,” I protested, “we aren’t the—”

  “’Scuse us. Gods coming through,” Alex interrupted in his Darth Vader impression. “Important business at the temple, you know. Thanks for this, ā yí.”

  My brother swiped an apple out of a middle-aged woman’s hand and bit into it.

  “That wasn’t for you,” she protested. “That was for the god of fortune!”

  I avoided looking at the people in line, aware that they were staring at us and murmuring. Moli ordered the horses to stop when we reached the front of the temple, a few strides away from the golden statues and food-filled altars on the inside. Two bald men wearing roomy orange robes stood before us, eyes narrowed. Monks.

  Alex leapt out of the chariot. “Shī fù.” He inclined his head to the monks in respect. “Years ago, a warrior named Liu Bo defended your temple from demons.”

  I jumped out of the chariot and joined my brother. “We’re his children, and we’d like to ask for your help. We have to find a, uh …” There was no way to say dragon and get them to take us seriously, so I’d just have to do it with as straight of an expression as possible. “A—”

  “Sorry. We’ve never heard of this Liu Bo,” interrupted the monk on the left.

  The other nodded and added gently, “Please go to the back of the line.”

  “What?” Alex flipped through the notebook. “No. This is Phoenix’s Chinatown. Ba clearly wrote about saving the monks from demons here. He says, ‘There was a yāo guài rampaging around the temple, breaking altars and terrorizing the monks. I eventually destroyed it, though it was one of the hardest battles I ever fought. The monks rewarded me with food, as well as the promise to honor my relatives forever.’ ” Alex pointed at the passage and held the book out toward the monks, who sniffed and turned it away. “With all due respect, shī fù, maybe you guys were taking the day off, or—”

  “Children, we’re quite busy today, as you can see,” the monk said with a touch of impatience. “Please don’t waste our time. I’ve never seen a demon here in Phoenix.”

  Alex kept arguing with the men, but a flurry of movement diverted my attention. A boy snuck out of line, wearing a black T-shirt that contrasted with his strikingly white hair.

  The boy sprinted up the steps. He almost made it past the black doors and into the temple. But then a monk turned and flung his arm to stop him.

  “Cursed One,” the man said, his voice trembling. I couldn’t believe it. This monk was scared of a kid? “When will you learn that you can’t enter a sacred temple?”

  The boy, the Cursed One, gave the monk a pleading look. One of his irises was black, but the other was a brilliant emerald green. “Shū shu, please.”

  “Every day for ten years you’ve been trying to get in,” said the monk. “Aren’t you tired of it?”

  “But it’s the second day of the New Year. The gods are most generous now. Please, I have to talk to the god—”

  “The gods don’t even talk to me. Come back when you’ve rid your hair of your curse, and that awful white dye.”

  “This is my natural color!” the boy protested.

  “More proof that you’re cursed.” The monk grabbed the boy by his arm and marched him down the steps. The white-haired Cursed One stumbled back into an old man who stood in line. The man shuffled away from him. So did everyone else.

  My heart beat quicker. This wasn’t right.

  “The temples are supposed to be open to everyone who needs help,” I said. “Aren’t they?”

  The monks folded their arms, returned to their posts, and didn’t respond. I turned to the Cursed One—only to discover he’d vanished into the crowd.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Moli sniffed, yanking the reins. The horses snorted and made a U-turn, causing more gasps from the crowd.

  “Wait,” I protested as Alex and I scrambled to climb onto the chariot. “We’re leaving, just like that? We haven’t even figured out where the dragon is!”

  “For once, I agree with you,” Alex said “Those monks have to be the ones who helped Ba. We’ve gotta talk to them. This is the only temple for miles, Moli—”

  “So we’ll keep moving forward and find another temple with monks.” She yelled over her shoulder, “I’m totally giving you guys a one-star review on Yelp!”

  I swallowed my anger. There would be more temples on our way. We’d find others to help us. But not here.

  An ugly, tense silence fell over our chariot. Moli turned us down a street to get away from the crowd. The horses pulled us past a closed Korean beauty-supply store and a couple of restaurants with names like Golden Dragon and Emerald Restaurant. This Chinatown was much smaller than the huge, bustling one in San Francisco I was used to seeing. They probably didn’t even have a Lunar New Year parade. It was a sad thought.

  “What now?” Moli asked. The chariot halted in front of an Asian supermarket. The flashing neon sign hanging above the store read FRESH MART. Except some of the lights were out, so from a distance it read FEAR instead. Awesome.

  A low growl split the silence.

  “Demon!” Alex yelled, upending his notebook and yanking his sword off the floor.

  “No, that was my stomach,” I admitted. “Do we have any food?”

  Alex reached into his pocket and produced a half-eaten granola bar. I gave him a withering look.

  “Suit yourself,” he said, tearing off the wrapper and then shoving the rest of the bar into his mouth.

  “Ew!”

  “There’s bound to be some food in there.” My brother nodded at Fresh Mart. He crammed the notebook into his back pocket and swung his legs over the chariot.

  “I’m not going in there,” Moli huffed.

  “Why not?” I was already poised to leap out of the vehicle.

  “Asian markets always smell like dead fish. You two stink enough. I’m gonna head up to the roof and get some air, thanks.” Moli paused. “While you’re at it, get some carrots for the horses. And fruit for me. I’m starving.”


  “We don’t have money,” Alex pointed out.

  I bit my lip, inwardly cursing myself. We should’ve asked Guanyin for money before she left. That was, like, rule number one of cross-country quests: take the grown-ups for all they’re worth.

  “What kind of city dweller doesn’t carry money with them?” Moli scoffed.

  As though it were our fault that Mao had only ever given us enough money to cover groceries and bills. As though Alex and I had ever even been allowed to dwell outside in the city as freely as everyone else. I wanted to point out that not all of us had been as spoiled as Moli was.

  But the hunger gnawed at my insides and fogged up my brain. I didn’t have the energy to fight.

  “Don’t spend everything at once.” With that, Moli directed the horses skyward.

  The bustling market welcomed us with the pungent odor of fish and durian, not to mention the chaos of families yelling at each other across the store. I plugged my ears. Seriously, couldn’t these people just text one another?

  We pushed past swarms of people, moving through aisle after aisle of Asian junk food—everything from Pocky and shrimp chips to dried mushrooms that smelled more like dried feet. I had to drag Alex away from the candy aisle.

  The fruit was located in the back of the store, next to giant transparent tanks where live fish swam. Their eyes gazed straight into my soul, begging me to save them. A couple of kids giggled and poked at the glass.

  “What kind of fruit do you think Moli would like?” Alex asked, eyeing the colorful variety of apples, bananas, peaches, and more.

  “Durian,” I blurted out. “Yep. Durian. I’m positive.”

  “Really? How’re you so sure?”

  “She, uh, mentioned it to me back when we were still friends. Said it’s good for the skin or something.”

  Alex hurried to select one of the stinky yellow fruits. I snickered.

  I grabbed a bag of carrots and some dried meat and other snacks for us, joining Alex as we headed back to the front. There was a lovesick, puppylike expression on his face that made me want to punch him.

  Instead I did something worse.

  “Soooooooo, Alex. It’s up to me to talk to you about girls, huh?”

  “What?” Alex spluttered. “Why?”

  Though I’d been trying to make a joke out of it, my grin faded. “Since … you know … our parents aren’t around.”

  My brother looked at me as though I’d suggested we poke our eyeballs out and offer them to the gods. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “You’re reaching that age where you’re interested in girls. It’s only natural.”

  Alex’s cheeks flamed. “Wh-what are you talking about?”

  “I’m not blind. You totally have a thing for—”

  “I don’t have a thing for anyone!” my brother shouted. In a normal store he probably would’ve attracted stares from everyone in a fifty-foot radius, but since we were in the loudest place on Earth, I barely even heard him.

  Grinning, I put my hands up. “Okay, whatever you say.”

  “You’re so embarrassing.”

  “Just looking out for you.”

  “Well, don’t.”

  Before I could respond, someone bumped into me, causing the counter to dig into my rib cage. “Oof!” I gasped. The person stumbled but recovered quickly and squeezed past customers in a mad dash for the exit.

  “Thief!” a deep voice bellowed. “Someone stop him!”

  CHAPTER

  11

  Like Chinese Wonder Woman, I saved the day. I reached into my grocery basket, grabbed the thorny durian, and chucked it at the white-haired figure while trying not to shriek in pain.

  Note to self: never, ever touch durian skin with bare hands.

  The spiky, smelly yellow fruit sailed through the air and thwacked against the thief’s back. He went down in a flash of white, his body half-inside the store and half-outside, scattering the people nearby.

  “She shoots—she scores!” I said.

  “Seriously, is there an agency I can use to disown an older sister?” Alex muttered.

  A Fresh Mart worker pulled the thief to his feet, and his face came into view. White hair and mismatched eyes. The Cursed One. This kid was a magnet for trouble.

  A large man with a black beard shoved past me. He mumbled something to the worker, who released the white-haired boy with a reluctant look on his face. The man yanked the thief by his ear. “Ren! You shameless boy. I take you to a store, and you decide to rob it? And during New Year?”

  “Technically I haven’t left the store yet,” mumbled Ren.

  “Uh-oh. Looks like that kid’s in some big trouble,” Alex whispered.

  Something about this scene was definitely wrong. The man was tall and intimidating, with black hair piled on top of his head in a man bun. He wore a long, white shirt decorated with a column of gold buttons. His massive belly protruded over his tan, belted pants. He didn’t look like the white-haired boy’s father, but stranger things had happened.

  The man let go of Ren’s ear and snatched something out of the boy’s hands—three white incense sticks and a golden statue of what looked like our familiar ally Guanyin, the goddess of mercy. “What’s this nonsense?”

  “You wouldn’t let me buy the incense sticks or the statue,” Ren protested, rubbing his ear.

  “So what? You think that’s permission to steal them?”

  “I have to speak with the gods, Mr. Fan. It’s urgent.”

  “What for? The gods won’t help you get rid of your wretched curse, boy. C’mon. Back to training.” Mr. Fan threw an arm around Ren and called over his shoulder, “Move along. Nothing to see here.”

  Ren wriggled out of the man’s big, beefy arm, knocking over a shelf of wasabi peas. “I’m not going back with you!”

  Mr. Fan’s face reddened, and his beady eyes flitted around the crowd “Ren, don’t make a scene. Think of how ashamed Jianfei would be.”

  “If my father were still alive, he’d be more ashamed that you—his friend—won’t even let me pray to the gods!”

  I probably should’ve let the Fresh Mart workers handle the situation. But if there was one thing Ye Ye had taught me, it was the importance of prayer. Showing loyalty to the gods was a privilege everyone was supposed to have.

  I pulled my pin out of my hair and muttered the incantation. Fenghuang lengthened in my hands.

  “Get away from him,” I ordered the large man, whipping the crystallized tip under his nose.

  I expected the screams. I expected the shocked look on Mr. Fan’s face. I expected Ren to stumble backward.

  I didn’t expect Mr. Fan to keel over in a dead faint—or for the air around Ren to burst into smoke.

  The families began bolting out the front door in a panic. Mothers grabbed their crying children in one hand and hauled a week’s worth of groceries in the other.

  As I looked on with a mixture of fascination and horror, Ren’s skin began turning blue. Its texture bubbled, the surface turning from smooth to scaly. He screamed, the high-pitched sound deepening into a roar.

  “He truly is the Cursed One!” someone screamed as the last of the customers and workers stampeded out of the door.

  I backed away, feet crunching over spilled wasabi peas.

  A gray smoke screen enveloped the white-haired boy, and as he writhed, his roars turned lower and more animal-like. Then he began growing at a rapid speed. He grew and grew until his body burst through the roof with a thundering crash that shook the building from ceiling to floor. Chunks of brick rained down on us.

  Alex tugged at my sleeve. “Get out!”

  “But—Mr. Fan,” I said, staring at the man lying on the ground.

  My brother hauled me along with strength I hadn’t thought he had in him. “Forget him, Faryn. He’s a complete jerk anyway.”

  I frowned. First Wang, now Mr. Fan. I wasn’t the biggest fan of those guys, either, but wasn’t my brother being a little extreme? “J
ust because people are jerks doesn’t mean they deserve to—”

  “More importantly,” Alex interrupted as though I hadn’t spoken, “Moli’s out there!” He pointed through the rubble toward the outside. The panic in his voice bordered on hysteria. “We’ve gotta save her.”

  I felt guilty until I noticed Mr. Fan had managed to dig himself out of the rubble—and instead of checking on Ren or any of us, he was running away screaming and waving his arms. I shook my head. The real hero of Chinatown.

  Together, the two of us dodged falling mortar and sprinted for the exit. We ran out into the parking lot, where the families were piling into their cars and driving off. In moments, the parking lot was empty.

  I looked up. Moli’s golden chariot soared high above us, safe from danger. I let out a breath of relief. If she was smart, she’d stay up there.

  When the smoke cleared and dust settled, we found ourselves facing a full-grown dragon. The snakelike creature had emerald-green scales and two small horns that emerged from the top of its head. He hissed and emitted smoke out of his nostrils. He stood at least fifteen feet tall and measured easily twice that in length, with the body of a serpent and small arms and feet. The dragon hovered over the crumbling building.

  “The riddle!” my brother shouted. “This is—”

  “—the dragon we’ve been looking for,” I finished. I squinted up at the majestic creature and gulped. “D-dragons are supposed to be good … right?”

  Ye Ye had told me that dragons were honored beasts in Chinese tradition. Sure, there were a couple of dangerous ones, but almost all—especially the direct descendants of the Dragon King of the West Sea, Ao Ji—were intelligent, even if they were incapable of human speech. The creatures commanded great respect and power among humans and deities.

  “Normally, yeah. Dragons bring prosperity and the rain,” Alex said, his trembling fist clenched around his sword. “But it doesn’t look like this one is, uh, that interested in prosperity.”

  The dragon opened his mouth to reveal fangs as tall and thick as poles and pointed enough to bite anything in two. He let out a roar that shook the trees. Birds scattered. Up above, the horses kicked up their hooves and whinnied in terror, drawing the dragon’s sharp glare.