Silver Phoenix

10

Lao Pan’s cave was at least two hours’ walk behind them, when a shrill scream sent Ai Ling’s heart into her throat. Chen Yong ran toward the noise; Li Rong followed with Ai Ling behind, astride the horse.

Four bodies lay in pools of blood next to an ornate overturned sedan. A richly attired woman struggled with a man swathed in dark blue, who ripped at the jewels on her throat. The assailant turned glittering eyes toward them, the only feature revealed behind the hood pulled over his head. He took one look and bolted.

Chen Yong sprinted after him, only to be stopped midstride by a breathless protest from the woman. “Please, no! Let him go. No more bloodshed.”

She swooned, and Chen Yong turned back and offered his arm to steady her. The lady sobbed, her face ashen. But somehow she remained alluring. Her rouged cheeks and black eyeliner did not smear. Her dainty rose-colored lips quivered prettily. Ai Ling suddenly felt very plain and dirty next to this woman, elegant even in her distress. She dismounted and stood next to Feng, stroking his neck.

“You came just in time,” the woman said. Li Rong stepped forward and gallantly offered her a handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes, holding the fabric gracefully in one ivory hand.

“He ambushed my attendants, then dragged me out of the sedan . . .” She paused dramatically as tears continued to stream down her face.

Ai Ling frowned. She remembered watching a similar scene in a play staged a few years back, only the distressed maiden wasn’t so pretty, as she was played by a man.

“Are they . . . dead?” The lady swayed toward Chen Yong.

Li Rong approached the men, bent down, and searched for a pulse. Ai Ling sensed no life in them. Dark blood seeped through their tunics; her stomach turned at the cloying scent.

“They were so loyal. They would never have run and left me alone with that villain.” She knelt trembling in the dusty road next to the bodies.

Chen Yong put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, lady, that you suffered through this, and that your attendants lost their lives. Can we escort you to the next town at least?”

She stood, looking ashen still. “I am Lady Zhou. I was headed to the city of Dai Ting to visit family.”

“We were also stopping there. We should reach it tomorrow by foot. If you don’t mind walking,” Chen Yong said.

And would they tote her in the sedan like her attendants if she did mind? Ai Ling tried to suppress her irritation and jealousy. Must Chen Yong be so chivalrous? She was annoyed with everyone, but most especially herself.

Li Rong stepped forward in greeting, one palm pressed to his heart. “I am Li Rong, at your call, lovely lady.”

Ai Ling contained her snort but could not stop her eyes from rolling.

Chen Yong looked embarrassed and introduced himself, and she followed suit.

“I would be so grateful to have you as escorts. A woman can’t travel alone safely these days.” Her gaze lingered on Ai Ling with that statement. Ai Ling raised her chin and looked down at her, drawing her shoulders back so she stood even taller.

Li Rong and Chen Yong righted the overturned sedan so Lady Zhou could retrieve her belongings. She pulled out a pink satin purse.

The brothers moved the bodies to the side of the road.

“We’ll tell officials when we arrive in Dai Ting,” Chen Yong said, “so they can retrieve the bodies for their families.”

They bowed their heads, and Chen Yong led them in a short prayer. They decided to continue on, to reach the town as soon as possible.

“You’ve had such a shock, Lady Zhou. I’m sure Ai Ling wouldn’t mind if I offered you my horse,” Li Rong said.

Dung of a diseased turtle! Ai Ling tried to smooth the scowl off her face. She nodded imperceptibly and handed the reins to Li Rong.

“Oh, thank you so much,” Lady Zhou breathed, still a little winded from her ordeal.

Li Rong offered an arm to help her onto Feng. But she had some trouble, falling into a close embrace with him on the first try. She blushed deeply, which made her prettier somehow. Ai Ling never felt pretty when she blushed. She always imagined her head turning into a bulbous red radish—the kind Taro liked to dig up and chew.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never been on a horse,” Lady Zhou said.

Neither had she, but she didn’t fall into anyone’s arms trying to mount the beast. Ai Ling chided herself for these thoughts. How could she be so petty and mean?

But Feng did not appear to like Lady Zhou. The horse nickered and pranced, making it difficult for the woman to sit comfortably. Li Rong tried to placate him, to no avail. Feng’s nostrils flared, and he continued his jittery dance, tossing his head.

“I’m distressed and making the horse nervous,” Lady Zhou said. “Perhaps it’s better if I walked, as long as you offered an arm?” Li Rong was back by her side before a cock could crow.

Ai Ling approached Feng with one hand outstretched and stroked his velvet neck just as he liked. The horse became calm and still, allowing her to climb onto his back. A part of her felt a smug satisfaction. At least Feng wasn’t swayed by any pretty thing that sauntered by.

They walked until the sun faded behind the mountains. Li Rong strolled beside Lady Zhou, regaling her with funny anecdotes and silly jests. Her laughter tinkled through the warm air. Ai Ling pursed her lips. She and Chen Yong followed behind the merry couple, Chen Yong leading the horse by the reins.

They made camp that night against the hillside. Ai Ling’s thighs and rear were sore from riding, but she was grateful she hadn’t had to walk the entire way. She shared a sparse meal with the brothers. Lady Zhou had no appetite. She prepared for sleep. Chen Yong had already retired, while Lady Zhou and Li Rong sat near the fire, their amused faces lit by the flames. Each strand of Lady Zhou’s ebony hair stayed in place. Ai Ling touched her own hair, most of which had escaped from her one braid, making a sweaty halo around her head.

They whispered, and Ai Ling was glad for it. She did not want to hear Li Rong’s flattering blather. She wasn’t jealous . . . but perhaps she had become used to being the only female in their little group. She admonished herself for acting so foolish. She was not interested in Li Rong, much as he teased and flirted with her.

Her mind wandered. She could see Chen Yong from where she lay. She still hadn’t given him the letters. She didn’t want to, in the presence of others. Especially Lady Zhou. She wanted to share the moment alone with Chen Yong. It was terribly selfish, she knew.

Ai Ling shifted on the hard ground, tucking her thin blanket beneath her chin. The fact that Chen Yong slept while Li Rong and Lady Zhou flirted by the fire made her feel even more alone. She thought about the first time she had entered his spirit. Could she do it again?

She flung herself forward, felt the tautness within her navel, extended her spirit and snapped into his being. His body was completely relaxed. He drew deep breaths, and he dreamed. She stayed with him, unable to pull herself back, wanting this closeness. She dreamed with him.

They sat in a beautiful pagoda set in a lush garden. The flowers bloomed in bright yellows and reds, without scent. The girl beside him laughed, peered up with adoration. She reached over to caress his cheek.

“I miss you, Chen Yong. I had no choice, please forgive me.”

The girl could not have been more than thirteen years, but she spoke as a grown woman, with a regretful sadness. Ai Ling felt her heart, his heart, crush with an empty ache and longing, with such anguish it was difficult to breathe. . . .

The scene wavered, dispersed. He sat in the study grinding ink. A sheet of neatly written characters lay on the desk. I am going home, read the flowing strokes. Someone entered the study and looked over his shoulder, but he did not turn to see who. It no longer mattered.

He practiced forms in a wide courtyard. He whirled in the wind as if he had wings, his spirit soaring, free. He leaped in the air and was surrounded by galloping waves, on a sea that was unfamiliar to him, the waters a churning black. He landed on the deck of a ship, looking out to the endless horizon. The sun crept upward, bleeding crimson. . . .

“Help!”

Feng’s agitated whinnying sounded almost like human screams.

Ai Ling bolted straight up and gasped as she snapped back within herself. She felt winded, unable to catch a full breath, and rose unsteadily to her feet. Chen Yong was already standing, his sword raised. The fire flickered low but cast enough light to reveal Li Rong struggling with a massive writhing thing just beyond it.

Chen Yong sprang toward his brother. The monstrous serpent raised its head and hissed. A long forked tongue darted out. Its scales were a stunning bloodred, the muscles beneath them moving in powerful undulation as it wrapped itself around Li Rong.

“Sssstand back or your foolissssh brother diessssss.” The serpent turned its head, and she saw Lady Zhou’s face, except her wide eyes were now vertical slits, glowing like golden lantern light. The face merged with the strong neck of the serpent, the pale skin of human flesh melding with the crimson scales.

Li Rong continued to struggle.

“You liked me well enough when we shared kissssssesss.” It flicked its tongue toward Li Rong, who jerked his face away in terror.

Chen Yong’s legs were in a wide stance, his sword high. Ai Ling knew he would not attack while the serpent gripped Li Rong. Murmuring a prayer, she unsheathed her dagger, crouched and edged out of the circle of light cast by the dying fire. She steadied her trembling hands. Li Rong needed her help. She clung to this thought. She sneaked around the serpent demon’s massive coils and twitching tail; Chen Yong saw her, she knew, but she dared not meet his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Ai Ling vaulted through the air and plunged her dagger into the back of the serpent’s head. The sharp blade sank in to the hilt, and there was a sizzling sound, reminding her of meats spitting above hot coals at the market. She tried to pull out the dagger to strike again but could not budge its glowing hilt, burning cold within her hand. The demon shrieked and slammed its tail on the ground. The pungent smell of burning flesh hit Ai Ling’s nostrils; her stomach seized. She saw Chen Yong grab Li Rong by the arms and drag him away from the writhing beast. The serpent’s tail whipped toward her like an angry eel, knocking her off her feet.

Li Rong raced to Ai Ling, pulling her back. The demon lunged at Chen Yong. But he twisted out of the way. Chen Yong jumped forward and sank his sword into the thick body, right below its human face. The demon hissed and bucked as blood the color of pitch flowed from the wound. Chen Yong withdrew his sword and attacked again with a wide swing, and more of the thick ooze erupted as the head tottered on its thick coil. The demon shrieked in the throes of death, its mouth a red slash, the dark tongue lolling out.

Chen Yong raised his sword again, and the head thumped down at his feet. Dark blood splattered across the dirt. The shrieking stopped, but a faint ghost ring reverberated through the night. The thing convulsed violently before becoming still. Ai Ling’s throat felt thick from the raw, potent scent of blood.

Chen Yong wiped his sword on the scales of the dead beast, smearing the brilliant red corpse with its own black blood. He turned to the fire and tossed the wood he had collected earlier that night into it. The flames leaped, illuminating the grisly scene. The serpent’s body stretched out the length of at least five men, its width as thick as a man’s torso. The powerful head with the porcelain face lay inert now, in a pool of black. The face was almost beautiful, if not for the forked tongue that hung limply from its mouth.

“The heavens help me,” Li Rong choked out.

“What in the underworld happened?” Chen Yong asked.

“We were flirting. And kissed a little. Then she started moving lower . . .” He threw an embarrassed glance toward Ai Ling. She managed to keep her expression blank. “And the next thing I knew, there was a monster between my legs!”

Chen Yong snorted. “That’ll teach you to keep your bird to yourself.”

Li Rong’s mouth dropped. He closed it, then opened it again, like a gaping fish out of water. She looked from Chen Yong’s stern expression to Li Rong’s look of incredulity, and burst into laughter. She bent over and laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks. The two brothers joined in, and soon the night rang with their hysterical merriment.

Li Rong grinned at her sheepishly. “This would never have happened if you had accepted my affections in the first place, Ai Ling.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Don’t blame your failed romantic pursuits on me,” she said. “You’d be her evening snack if it weren’t for us!”

“You certainly know how to choose them,” Chen Yong said.

“When do women turn into serpents but in the old ghost tales?” Li Rong managed to look even more chagrined.

“Lao Pan tried to warn me,” Ai Ling said, barely above a whisper. “Perhaps the demons and monsters in The Book of the Dead exist after all.”

Li Rong shook his head. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen her change shape before me.”

“There isn’t much I wouldn’t believe after what I’ve encountered these past few days,” Chen Yong said, his sword still drawn.

They stood in silence, each staring at the carcass of the serpent demon. Then slowly, the crimson scales grew darker until they became ebony in color. The monstrous form collapsed on itself in a plume of black ash, leaving an outline of its length on the dirt. Ai Ling shuddered. They could have died this evening.

Something silver glittered in the ash. Her dagger. The blade was pristine, as if she’d never thrust it into the serpent demon’s neck. She slid the dagger back into its sheath, saying a small prayer of gratitude to Master Tan and Lao Pan.

“The hilt glowed while it was in the serpent,” Chen Yong said.

Ai Ling felt the excitement drain from her limbs. “I tried to remove it to stab her again, but I couldn’t pull it out.”

“Lao Pan’s blessings seem to have taken,” Chen Yong said.

“And thank the heavens for that,” Li Rong added. “I will raise a cup of wine to you the first chance I get, wise seer.”

“You should thank Ai Ling first,” Chen Yong said.

Li Rong dropped to both knees, his hands outstretched toward her. “You saved my life, beautiful lady.”

Ai Ling collapsed near the campfire. “It was probably my fault anyway.” She rested her chin in her hand and stared into the flames.

“How so?” Li Rong asked.

“These demons seem drawn to me. There have been too many attacks—and I’m always the target.” She wanted to articulate her jumbled thoughts better, but her tongue would not cooperate.

“But she attacked me, not you.” Li Rong rose and sat down beside her. “I only jested when I blamed you earlier, Ai Ling.”

She tried to smile, but could not manage it. “What if . . . the demons are targeting my friends now?”

Chen Yong placed a light hand on her shoulder, nearly causing her to jump to her feet. “Rest, both of you. I’ll keep watch until light breaks.”

“You need sleep, too, old brother.” But Li Rong must have recognized the expression on his brother’s face, for he made no further protests and crawled under his blanket.

Ai Ling did the same. Sleep claimed her sooner than she expected, even as the image of the powerful serpent with a beautiful face haunted her.