Silver Phoenix

18

Ai Ling dreamed of Li Rong. They sat in the gardens of the Golden Palace, by the banks of the Scarlet River. He showed her a coin trick, and she laughed. The gold coin then turned into an emerald duck and waddled into the shallow water. She clapped her hands with enthusiasm. “Do another!”

“But I need my heart back,” he replied.

A gaping hole bloomed across his chest. Ai Ling shivered in the sunlight.

“Without it, I cannot be reincarnated.” There was the same mischievous glint in his dark eyes, the same smile on the corners of his mouth. She ached to see him again. Of course he was right; she had been led so far astray. By her own pride, her stubbornness—her anger against the gods.

“Besides, you always had my heart. I just never had yours.” Li Rong extended his hand and she reached out her own, sobbing and laughing at the same time.

“I know, it’s an awful jest, even for me,” he said, his fingers brushing hers like a kiss. Ai Ling woke with a start, her throat parched, the salt of tears on her lips. She turned her head. Zhong Ye’s skeletal hand grazed her cheek, and she jerked away, choking back a cry. She felt no triumph. Her teeth clacked violently, and she hugged a cushion to her nakedness. Were Father and Chen Yong all right? She tore her eyes away from the corpse to glance up at the lattice panels. The sun had not yet risen.

She stepped from the bed, bent, like an old woman. She took several deep breaths, her hands pressed against her trembling thighs, before she was able to straighten. She searched the bedchamber and found her knapsack in the red wedding cabinet. Zhen Ni had not failed her.

She pulled on a pale green tunic and trousers, then retrieved the cloth bundle containing Li Rong’s heart, still ice cold to the touch. She placed it with care on the bed. Ai Ling reached for a lantern and poured the lamp oil on the coverlet, lowered the burning wick to its braided edge.

“Forgive me, Li Rong. I only wanted to make things right.”

She murmured a prayer to the Goddess. The material caught fire, fed on the silks and satins of the bed.

She stumbled backward, clutching her knapsack. The fire’s heat burned her throat, seared her skin. She turned and ran. Her last glimpse was of the golden drapes of the bed bursting into flames.

The night air revived her. The courtyard was empty. She sat underneath a plum tree, pulled her knees to her chest, and watched as the fire grew. The blaze from within the bedchamber cast menacing shadows through the high lattice windows.

It was Zhen Ni who discovered her, teeth clattering, despite the heat from the inferno. “Mistress!” The alarm in the handmaid’s voice was clear.

Ai Ling rose to her feet, only just realizing they were cold and bare. “Bring my father, Master Wen, to me. And Chen Yong.” It was a command, as regal as any empress could make.

Uncertainty flickered across the girl’s delicate features. Ai Ling lifted her chin. “Master Zhong is dead. You need not fear him.” Zhen Ni’s mouth grew as round as a goose egg. She half bowed before rushing out of the courtyard.

Several eunuchs charged in from another entrance, shouting over one another. Huge urns of water were wheeled by servants who suddenly swarmed the courtyard. Alarm bells clanged. More eunuchs emerged, pushing water-filled vats, the wooden wheels thudding against the cobblestones.

As if in response to their pleas to heaven, a light rain began to fall. At first, it only misted her cheeks, until it pattered, plastering Ai Ling’s hair onto her neck. The handmaids who had scurried into the courtyard when the alarm sounded fell to their knees in supplication. Heavy rain doused the raging flames, aided by the eunuchs throwing pails of water.

Ai Ling crouched beneath the plum tree, rocking back and forth, the acrid smell of smoke and rain filling her senses. She felt a light touch on her back—Father. Chen Yong stood a short distance behind him. She rose and collapsed into her father’s arms, sobbing onto his shoulder as he smoothed her damp hair, unbound for her wedding night. “Come. Let’s take refuge from the rain,” her father said.

Zhen Ni had stayed close, and Ai Ling asked, “Can you show us to empty quarters?”

“I can take you to where we prepared you for the wedding . . . only”—Zhen Ni bowed her head lower—“men are not allowed there, mistress.”

Ai Ling could not suppress a wry smile. “I hardly think decorum matters now. Please lead the way.”

The handmaid turned, and they followed her. Her father walked with his hand clasped protectively around her shoulder, and Ai Ling leaned into his thin frame. Chen Yong strode on her other side. She couldn’t look at him. How could she ever speak to him again?

They followed Zhen Ni’s bright lantern in silence. When they reached the steps of the bridal dressing quarters, Chen Yong touched her arm with a light hand. Ai Ling glanced up in surprise.

“I’m so glad you’re all right,” he said.

More tears gathered in her eyes, and she was grateful for the rain.

“Me too.” It wasn’t what she meant to say, but it didn’t matter.

The handmaid led them into the darkness of the dressing chamber. She began lighting the lanterns on the tables and in the corners of the room.

“Can you bring food and tea?” Chen Yong asked.

The handmaid retreated. Ai Ling shivered in her wet tunic, which clung to her skin like rice paste. Her entire being felt numb, from each fingertip to her fogged mind, which turned with random thoughts and images.

“You should change.” Her father crouched beside her, concern etched in every line of his face.

“I have no more clean travel clothes.”

Chen Yong handed her the luxurious robe she had worn after her bath so long ago. “This will keep you warm.” He carried a small peony-etched lantern into the bath chamber. “You can change in here.”

Ai Ling smiled, even though her face felt too numb to do so. Chen Yong, ever chivalrous. “What about dry clothes for you? And Father?”

“Do not worry for us, Ai Ling.” Father stroked her damp hair. “I must take leave now to find Master Cao. He was an old friend and remains adviser to the Emperor. He may be able to help us.” He turned to Chen Yong and clasped his shoulder. “Can you keep my daughter safe?”

“I’ll stay with her,” Chen Yong said. Ai Ling emerged from the bath chamber after combing her wet hair and braiding it. The plush robe warmed her, and she pulled it tighter. Chen Yong sat at the enameled table, a tray laden with small dishes of food and a large pot of tea before him. A grin spread across her face.

“That’s what I hoped to see,” Chen Yong said. He poured tea into two celadon cups.

She slid onto the stool across from him and examined the tray’s offerings: a small bowl of thick beef stew with white radish and carrots, sticky rice and chicken wrapped in lotus leaves, young bamboo shoots with mushroom and tender greens cooked with sliced garlic. Ai Ling breathed in the delicious aroma wafting from the dishes. She took a sip of hot tea, delighting in the warmth that wound from her throat to her core.

“Thank you, but I’m not sure I have the appetite. . . .”

Chen Yong raised a hand to stop her. “Eat a little, you need the strength. I’ll worry if you refuse good food laid in front of you!”

Ai Ling smiled and picked up her eating sticks. “Only if you eat with me.”

“Agreed.”

They ate in silence. She sneaked glances at Chen Yong from under lowered lashes. He appeared puzzled, his dark brows drawn together.

“Were you treated well?” she finally asked.

He poured more tea for her. “I was housed in very opulent quarters and locked in.” He clenched his fist. “Zhong Ye threatened to kill you if I tried to escape, tried to aid you. I’m so sorry, Ai Ling.”

“It’s not your fault. It didn’t happen like I thought it would.” She prodded at her food with the eating sticks. “I don’t know what I expected.”

He too had stopped eating and straightened his back. “I know what happened to my mother now.”

She saw again in her mind the beautiful woman with the haunting eyes.

“What was it like?” he asked, after a moment of silence.

Ai Ling averted her face, feigned interest in selecting more morsels for her plate.

“I thought I heard her speak through me,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Who?”

“Silver Phoenix.” She rubbed her brow. “I wish I knew her story—her whole story.”

“It’s enough for me to know yours.” Chen Yong smiled.

She was suddenly limp with exhaustion.

“It’s a few hours before morning. You should sleep,” he said.

“And what will you do?”

“I’ll stay by your side.”

Ai Ling rose and climbed into the sumptuous bed. She burrowed under the thick blanket. Chen Yong would keep watch over her. She gave herself to slumber before another thought could form. Ai Ling awoke to find sunshine filtering through the lattice windows. Chen Yong sat on a chair beside the bed, his head bent over a well-worn book bound in dark leather.

“What’re you reading?” she asked, her voice rasping.

Chen Yong glanced up. “You’re awake.” He grinned, despite looking weary. “It’s a philosophical text by Long Kuei.”

“Oh.” Ai Ling stretched. “Did you sleep?”

“No. Your father came a short while ago to say Master Cao has arranged carriages for our journey home.” He nodded toward the foot of the bed. “And Zhen Ni brought you fresh clothes to change into.”

Ai Ling climbed with reluctance from the bed and examined the clothes. A simple tunic and trousers, made of lavender silk with pearl buttons. Her hand reached for her jade pendant from habit, but grasped nothing.

“My necklace,” she said.

“Did you lose it?”

She searched through her knapsack and found her necklace. Ai Ling cradled the pendant in her palm—the jade had clouded over, an opaque white.

“Can you help me put it on?” she asked.

She bowed her head and Chen Yong stood behind her, fumbling a little with the delicate gold clasp. The heat rose to her face when his fingers brushed against her nape.

“Thank you,” she murmured, without turning to him. Ai Ling picked up the new tunic and trousers but paused before entering the bath chamber.

“Chen Yong, I’m grateful you stayed with me.”

“I promised I would until the end, didn’t I?” He winked at her and smiled. She knew he was one to keep his promises. They took their morning meal in the reception hall outside the dressing chamber. Then her father led them to the outer courtyard, near the gate through which they had entered the Palace. A tall man dressed in a deep blue scholar robe greeted them—Master Cao.

“I’ve arranged royal carriages for your passage home,” Master Cao said. “A courier has been sent to the Emperor, giving news of Master Zhong’s passing. Of natural causes on his wedding night.” He laced his long fingers together and turned to Ai Ling. “Quite sad, indeed. The grieving bride has been sent home to her family.”

Her father clasped his old colleague’s hand in both of his. “We can’t thank you enough.”

Master Cao shook his head. “The entire kingdom is in great debt to your daughter, old friend. Zhong Ye outlasted dynasties, he could not be destroyed. Those who have tried were executed . . . or murdered.” The adviser dropped to his knees and bowed before Ai Ling.

Astounded, she reached down to the older man and touched his shoulder. “Please, sir, rise. I only did what I had to.”

Master Cao rose. “Know you did more than that. We’ll always be here to serve you, Mistress Wen.”

Not knowing what more to say, Ai Ling bowed and walked to the carriage that had drawn up outside, just beyond the moon gate. She climbed in and sat down. As she waited for her father, another carriage pulled up, and she suddenly understood. Chen Yong would be taking his own journey home.

He approached her carriage as if summoned by her thoughts. “It’s strange to say farewell.”

“You return home now?” She looked down at her clasped hands, tried to speak in a steady voice. “Why not stay at ours for one night? It’s on the way.”

Chen Yong shook his head, the morning sun bright behind him. Dark shadows marked the curves beneath his eyes, making his cheekbones more prominent. He was leaner than when she had first met him. Their journey together seemed to have chiseled his features, sharpened the last remnants of youth. “I need to tell my family about Li Rong.” He spoke softly, his voice raw.

Li Rong.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

These words finally brought the tears she had tried so hard to hold back, and she raised her face. “Will I see you again?” She gripped the open window of the carriage, fought the urge to reach for his hand.

He drew a step closer. “Yes, you will.”

She wanted to believe him. Chen Yong moved away from the carriage as her father climbed inside, and Ai Ling leaned back. He always kept his promises, she reminded herself, as their carriage rumbled away.