The Dragon Warrior

by Katie Zhao

  I shrugged, not wanting to anger Moli more. “We can spare one night. And we need the rest.”

  Moli tossed her ponytail behind her, a satisfied smile on her lips.

  “Remind me not to get on her bad side.” Ren looked at Moli nervously.

  “I don’t think anyone is ever not on her bad side,” I said.

  Moli whipped around, showering me in droplets of rain from her hair. “Let’s go. My horses need carrots.”

  We left the chariots and stepped inside the vaguely fishy-smelling store. The produce sat in rows in the middle of the store: green and purple cabbage, packages of ruby-red beets, bushels of leafy greens. The shelves along the walls contained boxes of healthy snacks, like nuts and dried meat.

  A couple of older women picked their way down the line of vegetables and fruits, but otherwise the store was empty. They stared at us and whispered when we entered. Their eyes were glued to Ren, who determinedly looked the other way.

  “Do you hear that?” Ren asked, touching my shoulder. “Cindy You. Isn’t she great?”

  The store speakers played a pop song I’d heard over and over again on the radio but had never liked enough to bother looking up. Maybe Mao had played the song at her banquet.

  Like a lot of Chinese artists, the girl had a soft, lilting voice, with a gentle tone that weaved in an out of the instrumentation—not at all like the powerhouse belts of American singers.

  “Um, sure?” I hadn’t expected Ren to be the Mandopop-groupie kind of guy. He fit the death-metal image better.

  Ren arched an eyebrow at me, a smile playing on his lips. “You don’t have a clue who Cindy You is.”

  “Nope.”

  “She’s a famous Chinese American pop singer. You should look into her work sometime.” Ren pulled out his music player. He flipped through his songs, showing me the titles. They were all listed under “Cindy You.” I frowned, wondering why those were the only songs on the player.

  “Hey, are you guys coming or what?” Alex yelled. He and Moli already waited at the counter.

  They’d grabbed a huge bag of carrots, dried meat, and fruit for Moli, and dumped it in front of a young cashier with dyed blond hair. He’d been speaking in rapid-fire Mandarin on the phone but hung up when we approached him. His glazed eyes sparked to life at the four of us, our clothes dripping water that puddled on the ground.

  “Geez. It’s raining like Yu Zu is crying his eyes out,” the young man said in flawless English. When we stared at him blankly, he clarified, “Yu Zu. God of rain?” He grinned, holding out his fist for Ren to bump. “Dude. Sick hair. Where’d you get it done?”

  Ren stared at the fist until the cashier was forced to lower it awkwardly. “The womb.”

  “The Womb?” The guy’s eyebrows, which were also dyed a horrendous blond, shot up. “Is that a new Asian hair salon around here? Man, those things pop out of the ground faster than daisies. A guy can’t keep track.”

  “Is there a hotel where we could stay a night?” Moli interjected in Mandarin.

  The cashier blinked. Then he replied in accented Mandarin, “You speak?” His eyes flickered over to Alex and me

  “Yes, we speak,” I said, annoyed. I was sick of people seeing our lighter hair color and assuming we were foreign to our own language.

  So many times, I’d stepped into San Francisco’s Chinatown to run errands for Mao, and people would be surprised by my fluency in Mandarin.

  The guy looked surprised, and my anger faded to guilt. I’d found his perfect English surprising, hadn’t I?

  “Cool,” the cashier said, shrugging. “There’s a nice hotel down the street. Royal Dragon Hotel.”

  Ren managed to disguise his choke as a hacking cough.

  “It’s got great reviews on Yelp. Haven’t been there myself, but I’ve heard good things. But—” He peered behind us, as though searching for somebody. “Kids, you aren’t lost or traveling alone, are you? Where are your parents? Your family?”

  I thought quickly. “Uh … o-outside,” I stammered, jerking a thumb behind me, “in the ch-chari—uh—car! They’re waiting in th-the car. Our mother and father, I mean.”

  “And grandmother and grandfather,” Alex said. “And uncle, second cousin twice removed, pet gerbil—mrrph!”

  I smacked a hand over his mouth. Why couldn’t Ye Ye have taught us how to lie, too?

  “Why did they stay behind while you children came in instead?” the young man asked, baffled.

  “Our parents are afraid of … grocery stores,” Ren supplied.

  “Grocery stores?” The guy’s eyebrows rose so high they disappeared under his hair.

  Molly shook her head and gave a theatrical sigh. “Trauma, you know, from living through the, um, the seventies.”

  The cashier’s disbelief was written all over his face. He squinted at us, a question knitting his eyebrows together. Runaways, I could see him thinking.

  Grabbing our bag of groceries, I blurted out, “Anyway, we have to go. Thanks!”

  “That was weird,” I heard the cashier mutter to himself as we headed back out.

  The rain had subsided into a drizzle. Alex quickly took the lead, his eyes glued once again to our father’s notebook. We hurried past barber shops and restaurants filled with hanging ducks.

  “You sure he didn’t mention anything else about the Royal Dragon Hotel, like maybe a line about horrible old monks or crazy gods?” Moli grumbled. “Sure would be nice if we could get a warning about any danger this time.”

  “Nah, but apparently the Jade Pagoda is the most highly rated restaurant of—” Alex stopped walking, nearly causing me to crash into him.

  At the end of the street stood a well-kept, modern, Western-looking hotel. The sleek, glassy black building of the Royal Dragon Hotel easily stood ten stories high. Red lanterns dangled from the roof and framed a set of revolving doors on either side by.

  Businessmen carrying briefcases wandered in and out. The sign that hung above the entrance flashed: ROYAL DRAGON FAMILY WISHES YOU A HAPPY CHINESE NEW YEAR.

  “This is more like it,” Moli said with a satisfied sigh. “I haven’t seen proper civilization in days.”

  Two bellboys by the entrance rushed around, helping men and women wearing polished business suits park their cars and move their luggage.

  We entered to the soothing ambience of soft classical èr hú music. The bellhop behind the counter set down the Chinese newspaper he’d been perusing to reveal the same wide, practiced smile as the other two men.

  Ren sniffed the air, a worried look on his face. “Uh, guys?”

  But Moli had already stormed up to the front desk.

  “We’re hoping to book two rooms for tonight. Queen-sized beds. Smoke-free,” Moli said.

  Ren darted his eyes around the empty lobby. “The odor is getting stronger.”

  I tried to ignore the prickling sensation along my arms. “Moli, maybe we should leave.”

  The greeter nodded at Moli, still smiling. “Name and identification?”

  “Zhao Moli.”

  The man typed something onto his computer screen. His smile vanished. “A reservation under that name has already been made.”

  “What?” Moli cried. “Impossible.”

  “Let’s go.”

  The man snapped his fingers. The floor opened beneath our feet, and we fell.

  CHAPTER

  14

  A scream had barely clawed its way out of my throat when I landed with a thud on a cold stone floor. The other three groaned and cursed. Pain shot up my right side where I’d fallen, but as I tested my limbs, I confirmed nothing had been broken or sprained. Except maybe my dignity.

  “Ah, perfect timing.”

  I lifted my head toward the sound of a silky female voice. In the middle of the huge golden hall with a high ceiling, a woman sat on a cushy-looking red velvet throne, wearing deep-maroon robes. Little pink flowers decorated her hair, stabilizing her tall bun. Two servants fanned her, while several guards we
aring red robes lined either side of the hall, spears held at their sides.

  Around me, Alex’s, Ren’s, and Moli’s expressions shifted from grogginess to confusion to shock.

  “Strange,” Ren mumbled. “I don’t smell demons anymore. Just … bad department-store perfume.”

  “Nice of you kids to finally drop by.”

  The woman on the throne laughed at her own joke but stopped when she realized she was the only one. She scowled and snapped her fingers. At once, the servants and guards cracked up and held their stomachs, too.

  “Who—who are you?” I shouted over the ruckus.

  “Chuangmu,” Alex supplied, his eyes as wide as quarters. “The goddess we’ve been searching for. The goddess who helped Ba. Goddess of love, and sleep.”

  Chuangmu snapped her fingers again. Her servants ceased laughing. She smiled, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. “Very good. I thought the warriors had almost forgotten about us gods, but it seems you’ve done your homework.”

  “But why did you drop us through the floor?” Moli squeaked.

  “You’re young! Walk it off,” Chuangmu said with a dismissive laugh. “When I was your age, I could contort my limbs into any position imaginable. I couldn’t break a bone if I tried!”

  “Yes, but you’re immortal,” Alex pointed out.

  Chuangmu chose to ignore him. “I was already under this entryway, so believe me, it was easier for you to get to me through the floor. So, here we are. Welcome to the Royal Dragon Hotel.”

  Through a forced smile, I gritted my teeth. Even the gods wouldn’t give us a break.

  “Our father—Liu Bo—did a favor for you years ago,” Alex said, pulling the notebook out with shaking hands. “We’re his children, and we need help. Please, can you tell us—?”

  Chuangmu put her hand up. “I know who you are. And I remember your father well.” A dreamy smile stretched across her face. She flung one arm over the side of her chair, propping up her head. Her opposite leg lay over the other arm of her throne. “Let me guess. You’re trying to reach Peng Lai Island in time for the banquet. You think your father might be there.” She examined her long, red nail with an exaggerated yawn. “You want me to help you find it.”

  “Can you?” I asked.

  “I don’t know why you mortals are so fascinated with the island,” Chuangmu sniffed. “That banquet is so stuffy. Those old deities don’t know how to have fun—not like we do at the Royal Dragon Hotel.” She winked.

  Alex nodded absently. “Sure, yeah, fun. But our father—”

  “—would want you to rest, dears. When’s the last time you had a decent sleep?”

  At Chuangmu’s soft words, my eyelids grew heavy. I hadn’t properly slept in days. My limbs felt like they weighed more than a ton of rocks. Everyone else’s expression turned droopy as drowsiness stole over them.

  “You’ve made a good choice to stay here for the Lunar New Year,” Chuangmu said. “Four point seven stars on Yelp, and the glowing reviews just keep coming. And since you are the children of Liu Bo, you may stay as long as you wish—as long as you pray to Xi Wangmu and me, in the morning and evening of each day.”

  Chuangmu swept her billowing sleeves through the air. A huge, glittering golden altar appeared in the space in front of her. Foods like dumplings and Peking duck lay on the table, set between two incense sticks. A golden statue of a familiar large woman—Xi Wangmu—sat behind the table. Beside her altar sat a much smaller one, with a golden statue that bore an uncanny resemblance to Chuangmu. She wasn’t among the usual deities we honored at the Society, so no wonder I hadn’t recognized her.

  I exchanged a look with Alex, who shrugged and got down to his knees. Ren and Moli did the same. A couple of prayers for a night of rest, which we sorely needed after two days of nonstop travel? I guess it was worth it.

  “I hope this prayer covers cable, too,” Alex muttered to me after we’d finished.

  “Don’t you know anything?” I whispered. “These places always charge extra for cable.”

  Something white fluttered through the air. Chuangmu snatched it up and tucked it into her robe. Unless my eyes played tricks on me, her glow grew stronger and rosier. The goddess snapped her fingers at the servant standing on her left. “You. Zai. Show these warriors to their rooms upstairs. And remember, they’re honored guests.”

  That sharp, predatory gleam in Chuangmu’s eye didn’t make me feel like an honored guest at all. More like a particularly plump bāo zi. An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach, but I swallowed it down. Ba had trusted this woman. I should, too. I had to, if I wanted to solve the second riddle and “free the fallen beasts.”

  Zai trembled at the goddess’s harsh tone but nodded in obedience. She set down her large leaf fan and beckoned for us to follow. She led the way through a side door, where we entered a great hall bustling with activity.

  The inside looked like something out of one those old-timey Chinese period dramas. The architecture looked like it dated back to at least the fifteenth century. Red lanterns hung from alcoves on the walls. A hallway stretched in front of us, lined with white panel sliding doors. People wearing all different types of clothing walked up and down the wooden floors: men who must have been scholars, in fancy, flowy robes and tall, thin hats; women whom I guessed to be workers, in dull white shirts paired with brown skirts worn with age. When they passed us, they pointed and whispered.

  “Bet Ba loved it here,” Alex breathed.

  “It’s rare to see warriors like yourselves here,” Zai said softly. “There were many warriors back in China. Since Chuangmu moved this hotel to America, we’ve had fewer and fewer come through. We get plenty of traveling scholars, though. And honored celebrities, like Cindy You.”

  Ren perked up. “Cindy You?”

  Zai nodded. “Jackie Chan came once, too,” she said proudly. “Sometimes, but not often, the deities will stay here. The deities’ pets are here far more than their owners are.”

  “Pets?” Alex echoed.

  “Yeah, like dragons.” Catching the shocked looks on our faces, Zai gave us a small smile. “Don’t worry. They’re kept on a special floor. And they’ve only burned the hotel down twice before.”

  Ren’s face turned green. Then I noticed the walls, decorated with colorful tapestries depicting dragons and deities fighting in the land and skies. I thought I heard faint dragon roars in the distance, but when I whirled around, I only saw a girl pushing a huge bin filled with towels.

  Zai stopped in front of a big room at the end of the hall and slid open the paneled door. The inside was even more spacious than it looked from the outside. Curtains of beaded dividers split the room into two chambers.

  “The baths are around the corner, near the main staircase. There’s a training room in the basement. Just take the elevators straight down.” Zai scrunched up her nose. “Oh, and bear in mind that Chuangmu has a very strict no-murder policy. I never think I need to mention that one, but then I end up scrubbing blood and guts out of the bedsheets for days, and it’s just awful.”

  On that cheerful note, Zai swung open the door and left.

  I was glad to be on Moli’s side for once. She bullied Ren and Alex into giving us the bigger room using her “challenge me and die” glare.

  Two queen-sized beds framed by tall white canopies sat on opposite ends of the room. There were two nightstands, and a small brown table in the middle of the floor.

  Moli claimed the bed next to the window. “Helps me sleep” was her short explanation.

  I didn’t care. Our beds had actual canopies! Back in the Jade Society, my “bed” hadn’t even had a mattress.

  I flopped onto the bed, sinking my head back into the pillow, and sighed. It felt like I was floating on a giant cloud. I had to have reached Heaven. A flat-screen TV even sat on the small cabinet across from my bed. I flipped through the channels and heard a horrendous Cindy You cover on some show called The Heavenly Voice. I shut it off.

  Moli had her bac
k to me. She pulled her hóng bāo out of her pocket.

  “So …,” I said. What did normal girls talk about? “Have you tried on the … makeups … lately?”

  Moli whipped around, narrowing her eyes. She pulled her sword out of her packet. “There’s something I need you to do for me.”

  Forget trying to have a normal conversation. There was no such thing with Moli. “Word of advice? If you want someone to help you, make it a request, not an order.”

  Moli’s cheeks colored. She took a deep breath. “Will you … Big Loser—I mean, Faryn Liu—please train me tonight?”

  I blinked, stunned. Moli tucked her hair behind her ear and glared back at me defiantly.

  This coming from the girl who’d spent the past few years choosing fancy dresses over swords, and had even called swordplay “the violent, tasteless man’s sport.” The girl who would much sooner wield a makeup brush than a weapon. The girl who believed, like Mao, that girls belonged in the kitchen, not on the battlefield.

  “What? Why?” I asked.

  Moli swallowed hard and wrapped her arms around herself. Although she stood taller than me by a few inches, in that moment she looked small and shriveled.

  “I couldn’t help you guys when Ren went wild in Phoenix. And I don’t really want to lie around at some spa while you guys fight demons tomorrow. If I’m going all the way to the island, I need to be able to protect myself—and the people of Chinatown.”

  “Why the change of heart?”

  Moli’s eyes slid over to the window, where fireworks painted the dark sky with bright colors. “It’s the Lunar New Year, but it doesn’t feel like it. Not with all these demons everywhere, and all the empty streets, and …” She sighed. “Mao’s got her flaws—”

  I snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

  “—but she always made sure everyone, even you and your family, had a proper Lunar New Year celebration.”

  She had a point. Mao’s banquet was something everyone looked forward to attending every year.

  Moli tilted the blade of her sword back and forth, letting it reflect the light of the fireworks. “If I can’t be with my father this Lunar New Year, at least I can protect other families.”