The Library of Legends

by Janie Chang

  They traveled through a valley, timbered hills rising up on all sides. They reached a roadside inn at nightfall. If not for the rough wooden tables and stools set up in the yard, it would’ve looked like a rather run-down farmhouse. But someone had cared enough to plant ornamental shrubs in the yard. Dogwood and rhododendron waiting for spring, shoots of forsythia struggling to show green.

  The innkeeper, elderly and unkempt, came out to greet the driver. He glared at the three passengers.

  “Not enough food for everyone,” he said and hawked a gob of mucus onto the dirt. He looked accusingly at the driver. “Usually it’s just one of you.”

  “Don’t worry, old man,” the driver said, “my friends don’t expect you to feed them. Just bring me what you have.”

  “We have our own food,” Sparrow said. “But may we have some hot water?”

  He spat again and stomped inside.

  The room had a hard dirt floor, and the thin coat of whitewash on its walls was streaked here and there with mildew. Part of the floor was paved with brick, obviously an area where guests could roll out their blankets and mats for sleeping.

  The driver sat down immediately at the one table. The old man threw more wood into the brick stove and barked at the woman who stood stirring a pot. She ladled its contents into a basin and set it down on the table in front of the driver. Boiled millet with a stew of chopped salt pork and vegetables.

  Sparrow spoke to the woman, who banged a kettle onto the stove. Lian handed out steamed buns stuffed with pickled vegetables, gave one to the driver, who ate his in two gulping bites. All Shao wanted was a bowl of hot water. The old innkeeper hovered beside the table, and the driver pulled out some coins. Sparrow gave the old man money as well as a small packet of tea leaves, which brought a broken-toothed smile to his face.

  “I’ll sleep in my truck,” the driver said. “You young folks sleep inside where it’s warmer.”

  “Lie down and rest, Shao,” Lian said. “There’s no telling how much walking we’ll need to do once this truck driver drops us off.”

  Shao squeezed her hand and smiled, although he’d rarely felt more miserable. He’d come with Lian so she’d be safe. Instead, he’d become a burden. His senses felt battered and the mere thought of the road ahead exhausted him. As soon as he pulled the blanket over his shoulders, he fell asleep.

  Chapter 29

  The inn and the forest around it were so quiet Lian could hear the faintest of breezes rustling through bamboo. It was no use, she couldn’t get back to sleep. And Sparrow was gone. Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, Lian went outside to the yard. Sparrow sat at one of the tables, her face turned up to the sky. When she saw Lian, she pulled out one of the stools. Lian sat down with a sigh.

  “My mind is so restless,” she said in reply to Sparrow’s inquiring look. “Beyond getting to Shanghai and asking Shao’s father to help Meirong, I don’t have a plan. I don’t know where to begin looking for my mother. I don’t even have a place to live.”

  “There’s more than enough room at the Liu estate,” Sparrow said. “They’d be happy to have you as a guest.”

  To live in the same house as Shao. Their budding yet undefined relationship. The scrutiny of his wealthy family and their servants. Lian shrank at the thought. And for how long could she impose on them?

  “My mother’s probably found somewhere to live by now,” she said.

  Then she noticed Sparrow wasn’t paying attention. The servant girl’s head was cocked to one side, as though listening. A moment later, Lian heard it, too, the sound of hooves. But not the heavy clopping of horses or donkeys. Something lighter and quicker was cantering toward them. Not just one, a herd.

  When she saw them, Lian gasped. Sparrow put a warning hand on hers. “Hush,” she said. “Qilin unicorns.”

  They were dainty creatures, their deerlike bodies lithe and sleek, manes fluttering bright as flames along their necks. The qilin slowed to a trot, their long, tufted tails curved proudly over their backs. Their leader, a black qilin, paused and the herd stopped. The black qilin lifted one hoof, the single antler at the center of its forehead burnished by moonlight. It tipped its head toward the table. Sparrow stood and bowed in response. The leader delicately sniffed the night air, then lashed its tail as if making a decision. Then the black qilin leapt into the forest and the herd followed, sprinting through the undergrowth. A moment later, the road was empty.

  But in the wake of their passage, trembling limbs of dogwood and rhododendron put out their first blooms, forsythia shrubs sprouted gold blossoms, and white mist poppies pushed tendrils of green above the ground.

  Lian could see all this because the yard was illuminated by a soft glow. And this time, Lian knew she was awake. And she knew also that she had been awake all those other times when she had seen Sparrow Chen shining in the dark. Sparrow, who was not a servant. Sparrow, whose exquisitely beautiful features smiled at her.

  Sparrow, who was the Willow Star. How could she not have seen?

  THEY TALKED ALL night.

  “You’re an immortal,” Lian said. “Surely you have powers? Or are you not allowed to use them?”

  “I have no powers, Lian, only immortality,” the Star said. “I’m just a celestial maidservant. No one prays to me, I’ve no obligations and no rules to obey except for my agreement with the Queen Mother of Heaven. My only advantage is that my sister stars guide me as we travel.”

  Lian couldn’t be privy to all the secrets of the gods. But the Star told Lian about her three sister stars, also maids-in-waiting to the Queen Mother of Heaven. About the exodus taking place, the immortals and guardian spirits leaving China. About the promise she’d extracted from the Queen Mother of Heaven, that in each reincarnation the Prince would lead a privileged life, male or female, always born into wealth because the Willow Star couldn’t bear to think of him suffering.

  And about the unexpected consequences of this promise.

  “He lacks purpose,” the Star said. “And without purpose he’s never been truly happy in any of his lives. Professor Kang helped me see that.”

  “Has he ever loved you, even if he didn’t know who you were?” Lian said. “In all those lives, were you ever married or lovers?”

  “Ah. Another detail unknown to scholars,” Sparrow said, with a wry smile. “To give him lives of privilege, I bargained away any possibility that he would ever fall in love with me in mortal form. Yes, there were some reincarnations where we were married. Arranged marriages where he was kind to me and that was all. It was enough.”

  Lian closed her eyes. The Star might have lived beside her Prince in each of his lives, but she had never been more than a companion, a good friend. A loyal servant.

  “I know,” Sparrow said, as if reading her thoughts, “it was a bad bargain. But I was only a maidservant. How could I outwit the Queen Mother of Heaven?”

  “Do you also go through the Wheel of Rebirth?” she asked. “How do you remember all your past lives?”

  “I’m immortal,” Sparrow said. “I’m not required to drink the Tea of Forgetfulness.”

  “What will you do now?” Lian said. “Will you go to the Kunlun Mountains with the other immortals?”

  The Star didn’t answer. Sunrise crept over the hills and light drained away from her. She stood up and was once again just Sparrow Chen, a house servant walking back to the inn.

  Lian touched the flowering stems of forsythia, the pink-tinged buds of rhododendron. She remembered the shining single antler on the foreheads of the qilin. She thought over everything the Star had told her. And although they never spoke of it directly during the hours they’d talked, she didn’t have to ask.

  Shao had never been, could never be for Lian. Or anyone else on this earth.

  Chapter 30

  After the inn, they rode with the same truck driver for another six hours to the next town. There was no military there, no motor transportation at all. But Shao’s money worked wonders when it came to getting a ri
de on a donkey-drawn wagon, where they bounced on hard wooden bench seats, squeezed between laborers on their way to repair a railway line.

  Then came another ride in another truck. And another bout of fever.

  Shao came to lying on a hard floor. A hard floor that bounced. A rush of cold air across his face opened his eyes. He squinted up to see stars and realized they were in an open truck, the warped boards of its sides barely higher than the seats. One good bounce and any passengers not holding on would’ve been thrown off those benches. Sparrow and Lian sat with their backs against the cab of the truck. The skies were clouded, the moonlight hazy. He felt a blanket being pulled over him.

  Crusted with sleep, his eyes refused to open fully. Sunrise. Or was it sunset? They had to find shelter for the night. Or was it daytime when they had to hide away? He pushed himself to a sitting position on his elbows.

  The truck had stopped at a crossroads. Lian and Sparrow were talking to a group of peasants. Most were men but there were a few women in the group. Donkeys and carts, handbarrows laden with baskets and sacks. The peasants’ wide hats of woven bamboo cast eerie shadows on the hard dirt road. Their leader rode majestically on the back of a large water buffalo, looking down at Sparrow, nodding at her words.

  “We’ll give you a ride though it’s out of our way,” a low growling voice said. “As far as Ouhai, but no farther.”

  “Thank you, King of Beasts,” Sparrow said. It was her voice, he was sure of it. But also different. A sweet, shining sort of voice.

  Then as Shao’s eyelids closed, the peasant talking to Sparrow changed. Now he loomed above her, twice the size he had been a moment ago. A savage face framed by long, fiery locks of hair, mounted on a tiger the size of an ox. Behind him, the peasants and their animals were gone, replaced by a procession of tigers, wolves, and leopards. Giant apes pushed handbarrows piled high with burlap bags wrapped around the roots of young saplings. A portable forest of cypress and gingko, golden larch and pink cassia.

  And Sparrow. He could only see her back, but her entire figure shone with a cool, unearthly radiance. He wanted to shout out, warn Lian and Sparrow about the wild animals, the savage man. But he collapsed, exhausted. Doubting what he’d seen. Certain he was delirious.

  Someone lifted him as easily as though he were a leaf and set him down. Laughter and crude comments, rough voices. A blanket thrown over him. He felt the air sweep his cheeks, the rolling rumble of wooden wheels beneath his aching body.

  WHEN SHAO OPENED his eyes again, he was able to sit up. He was also ravenous and thirsty. There was a bowl of tea on the table beside him, tepid but quenching. The door opened, and Sparrow entered, carrying a plate that she set down on a wooden stool by the bed.

  “Where are we?” he asked, eagerly reaching for the steamed bun she handed him.

  “In Ouhai’s finest lodgings. We’re only four hours from Wen-chou,” she said. “You’ve been sleeping for two days, so I hope you’re all rested and ready to go.”

  “Of course. As soon as I’ve eaten.”

  “I wasn’t serious,” Sparrow said. “Get some more rest. We don’t need to leave just yet.”

  “How did we get here?” Images tumbled in his mind. Giant tigers. Apes pushing handbarrows. A wild man with eyes like fire. Leopards and wolves. He shook his head.

  “Some peasants were kind enough to make a detour for us,” she said. “They put you in a cart.” She took away the empty plate and a minute later, Lian came in.

  “Hot soy milk,” she said. “Think you can keep it down?”

  “I thought I was coming to take care of you, Lian,” he said, taking the enamel bowl. “But in fact, it’s been Sparrow taking care of us, hasn’t it? She defers to us and then takes care of everything in her own way.”

  THEY REACHED WEN-CHOU just before noon. The shops were open and tempting odors wafted out from restaurant doors, but they made their way directly to the waterfront to find Liu Shipping Enterprises. The three fugitives were dirty and their clothing smelled. The gatekeeper at Liu Shipping would’ve chased them away, but Shao’s educated speech and air of authority gave him pause.

  When the manager came out, he frowned at Shao. “You claim to be a member of the Liu family?” he said. “Liu Tienming’s younger brother?”

  Shao reached into his tunic and brought out a cylinder of white jade. He handed it to the manager. “My brother has the same one for his personal seal,” he said. “We all do. I’m sure you’ve seen him use it to sign documents. Go ahead. Look at the name on the seal.”

  “No need, no need, Young Master,” the manager said, giving it back. “Now that I look at you more closely, the family resemblance is strong, very strong. I’m sorry for my rudeness, sir. My name is Mah. Your brother isn’t here. He’s in Shanghai this week.”

  They followed Mah across the yard to a long wooden building. Inside, the manager shouted at two clerks who scuttled away to fetch more chairs.

  “How often does Tienming travel back and forth to Shanghai?” Shao asked.

  “He used to go every month and only for a few days each time,” the manager said, “but your mother’s illness has changed all that. His schedule is quite erratic now. On his last trip he stayed a month.”

  “He takes one of our own ships?” Shao asked.

  “Yes, we have one that makes a regular Shanghai-to-Wen-chou run. Our ships are all registered now with a partner company, a Portuguese firm. So far the Japanese have respected the foreign flag and don’t interfere.”

  “When does the ship sail again?” Shao said. “I need to get home, Mr. Mah.”

  “It returns to Wen-chou later today,” Mah said, “and sails for Shanghai the day after tomorrow. When everything’s on schedule, it’s an overnight trip.” He looked apologetic. “The Dong Feng isn’t our fastest freighter.”

  “Where does my brother live?” Shao said. He felt a swell of confidence. For the first time in a long while, he was speaking from a position of authority. “My friends and I need rooms.”

  “Your family owns a fine house here,” Mah said. “I’ll send word to the, ah, housekeeper to get some rooms ready for you.”

  “We also need a doctor,” Sparrow said. “Mr. Liu has come down with a fever.”

  “So unfortunate.” The manager shook his head. “I’ll send for a doctor to go to the house after lunch.”

  After months of privation and now, a housekeeper. Private rooms. A doctor. “How can life be so normal in Wen-chou?” Shao said.

  “The question is, how much longer can life go on as normal?” Manager Mah replied. “The Japanese are busy right now holding the north and the east while they bomb central China. We’re only a small port, not worth their notice, not yet anyway. So we take advantage of it while we can.”

  After sending a messenger to the house, Mah insisted on ordering lunch. It would give the housekeeper time to get their rooms ready, he said. The restaurant next door sent over soup noodles with fried pork chops, a mixed vegetable stir-fry, and sesame-sprinkled buns. Lian and Sparrow quickly finished their portions, but Shao could only manage some noodle broth.

  Rickshaws took them to an old-fashioned courtyard house. When they arrived, the gatekeeper bowed, then rushed inside. They heard his excited shouting.

  “Mrs. Deng, Mrs. Deng! Ah Guo, Ah Guo! Come out! The master’s younger brother is here!”

  Almost immediately a man past his middle years came out of the interior courtyard. He wore a plain tunic and trousers of dark blue, obviously a servant. The woman following close behind was dressed in a long skirt and old-fashioned jacket with a high collar. The cut and fabric were too fine for that of a mere servant. She was also exquisitely beautiful.

  “I’m Mrs. Deng,” she said, with the slightest of bows. “The housekeeper. We have three rooms ready for you. Also hot baths.”

  Beside him, Shao heard Lian’s quick intake of breath. He couldn’t blame her. He had to force his eyes away from Mrs. Deng. He’d never seen anyone as lovely as his brother’
s housekeeper. If that’s who she was.

  “Put Miss Hu in the best room,” Shao said. “And it doesn’t matter which ones you give to me and Sparrow.”

  “If you’ll follow me, Miss Hu. Young Master, Ah Guo will take you to your room.” The housekeeper bowed again. “I shall come back for the other young lady.” She walked across the small courtyard, the lines of her skirt emphasizing the graceful sway of her hips.

  Shao followed the manservant to a house on the eastern side of the courtyard.

  “How long have you worked for us, Ah Guo?” Shao asked.

  “Twenty-seven years,” the man replied, opening the door to a plain but tidy room, “ever since your grandfather opened the shipping business and bought this house.”

  “How long has Mrs. Deng worked here?”

  “Just two weeks,” Ah Guo said. “Master Tienming brought her from Shanghai.” His expression never changed.

  IN THE AFTERNOON, Ah Guo brought the doctor to see Shao. Sparrow and Mrs. Deng were already in the room, but the manservant hovered about the doorway possessively, the very picture of a family retainer. Dr. Mao was middle-aged, with a pleasant, square face and a cheerful demeanor that made Shao feel better just talking to him. Dr. Mao examined Shao’s rashes and asked about his symptoms, examined the label on the now-empty medicine bottle from the army doctor in Foochow.

  “He was right to give you antibiotics,” the doctor said. “You have a form of relapsing fever, mostly commonly carried by lice and ticks. Your condition has been exacerbated by exhaustion and poor nutrition. You need antibiotics and bed rest. But I must warn you about the drugs you’re getting.”

  Many patients with relapsing fever felt worse for a brief spell after their first large dose of antibiotics, the doctor explained. They often fell into a shaking chill, accompanied by more fever, sweating, and a feeling of extreme fatigue. But once that was over, Shao could expect a rapid and dramatic recovery.