Silver Phoenix

3

Ai Ling traveled onward through the night, guided by the half moon. The evening air was pleasant, still warm from the heat of the day. Yet she walked with her arms folded tightly around her, the hairs on her neck rising each time she heard the rustle of leaves or soft scrape of dirt. Ai Ling did not have the courage to look back, imagining dark shapes following her—Master Huang on a horse in pursuit or even lost ghosts, seeking the warmth of a living being.

She cursed herself for ever reading The Book of the Dead. She had found it just before her thirteenth birthday, hidden near the back of her father’s desk drawer, while searching for a new ink stick. Father had discovered her crouched over the enormous book, riveted. He had slammed it shut, forbade her to read it. She had never seen him so angry. Ai Ling had stumbled across the book again months later, this time tucked on the highest shelf, hidden behind other volumes. She pulled it down, knowing her father wouldn’t be back from his tutoring for hours. It was filled with tales of strange creatures. Truth or myth, she knew not. But the descriptions fascinated as much as revolted her. She’d studied it on the sly for years, and was being punished for her transgression this shadow-filled night.

She trudged on until the world began to take shape, dawn defining her surroundings. Her feet ached and her head throbbed. Exhausted, she finally curled up behind a hedge on the side of the dirt road and fell asleep, just as all else was waking up around her. The sound of clopping hooves woke Ai Ling. She sat up and saw the rear of the powerful animal. A man was astride the horse’s back, and Ai Ling crouched behind the hedge until the road was deserted. She brushed off her clothes and followed him. He was most likely headed to the next town.

Her stomach rumbled. By the height of the sun, it was near midday, and she hoped for a hot meal. She had a handful of coins saved. Mother had surprised her with birthday cash wrapped in a red satin pouch. She had found the gift resting against a sweet bean bun by her pillow on the morning of her seventeenth birthday.

She guessed it would take at least eighteen days to reach the Palace of Fragrant Dreams, assuming she did not become lost along the way. Ai Ling took a long swallow of water from her sheepskin flask and quickened her pace, imagining the dishes at the restaurant where she would soon dine.

Within the hour, she caught sight of the tall mud-colored walls surrounding Qing He. The gates to the city were wide open and kept by two guards. The tall one with a beaklike nose studied her with curiosity, while the other, more rotund guard did not bother to glance up. She released a long breath after she passed through the gates.

The main street clamored with throngs of people. There were other girls alone among the crowds. Their simple dress and unadorned hairstyle—braids wrapped tight on each side of the head—were clear indications of their servant status. Ai Ling had dressed plainly as well, her one long braid tucked inside the back of her tunic.

Qing He was bigger than the town she had grown up in. She jostled against others as she took in the storefronts of textile shops, bolts of silks and brocades gleaming in the sunlight. She ran her fingers along the smooth materials, imagining what her mother would create with the fabric.

She walked past the stationery store and quelled the urge to wander through it, knowing there would be endless rolls and sheaves of rice paper, bound books and journals, and elaborate seals to add to her small collection. Her father had taken her to the stationer in their town on many occasions. For her thirteenth birthday, they had selected a rectangular chop made of soapstone with a dragon perched on top. Her father had her name carved on the bottom. It became a tradition, the day of her birthday, to visit the stationer with Father and choose another seal. She had received one for each birthday thereafter, except this last one.

Turning a corner, she nearly collided with a woman balancing two baskets of eggplants on each end of a pole slung across her shoulders. The path immediately narrowed, and the noise of hawkers selling their goods simmered to a hum. The smell of steamed buns and dumplings drew her. The wooden sign hung above the restaurant doors read LAO SONG. She climbed the stone steps and went inside.

The enormous size of the place surprised her. It was two stories, and many patrons sat above on the second-floor balcony. A rowdy midday crowd crammed the first level. She had difficulty finding a table but finally chanced on one tucked in the back corner, with a view of the entire dining area. Dishes from the previous patron’s meal remained.

A server girl who looked her own age approached to clear the dirty dishes. She wore her one braid coiled on the top of her head and a plain pink tunic over gray trousers.

“What’d you like?” The girl barely flicked a look at her.

“Steamed dumplings, please. And some tea.” Ai Ling pressed her palms to her empty stomach.

Her server wiped the table clean with leftover tea and hefted the bowls and dishes away with graceful ease. Ai Ling watched her retreating back and wondered what her life was like. Was she Lao Song’s daughter? The girl was not wed, by the way she wore her hair.

Ai Ling came from the privileged scholarly class, yet she wouldn’t mind working in a restaurant if it meant she could stay close to her family. She fingered her red satin pouch.

It was not long before the girl came back with a plate of steaming dumplings. She placed a dish of chili paste and ginger in front of Ai Ling, as well as two small ceramic jugs. “Soy sauce and vinegar,” she said. “I’ll bring your tea.”

Ai Ling fixed her bowl with the condiments, just so. Lots of vinegar, light on the ginger and soy sauce, with a dab of chili paste. She swirled the concoction with her eating sticks and bathed the first dumpling. After making sure every bit of it was soaked, she took her first bite. Perfect.

Her server returned with a pot of tea, which she poured into a small chipped ceramic cup.

Ai Ling finished the dumplings too soon. She sipped her tea, observing the other patrons. They were mostly men, and the women who were present were accompanied by men. She was grateful for her corner seat.

A song filled the air. She looked toward the enchanting voice and spotted the singer a few tables down. The woman stood facing an audience of five men, her hair swept up in elaborate loops and adorned with red jewels. They winked in the sunlight that filtered through the open shutters above. She wore a flowing sky blue dress with wide sleeves. Ai Ling had guessed she was of high status, an official’s concubine perhaps. Then she noticed that the woman’s top was sheer, very clearly revealing three breasts.

Ai Ling’s empty teacup clattered to the wooden table.

A Life Seeker.

She remembered the drawing from The Book of the Dead—a beautiful woman elegantly dressed, her gossamer top showing the contours of her three breasts. The caption below had read: Emperor Shen of the Lu Dynasty issued a mandate which forced all Life Seekers to wear sheer tops, denying them the right to bind their breasts, and therefore baring their identity to the world. It served as warning for most, but an enticement for some.

She had reread the paragraphs so often she’d memorized the passages. It was as if she held the book in front of her. The Life Seeker can be easily distinguished by the extra breast on her sternum. The tips are dark blue, as are her tongue and womanhood. Legend has it that the extra breast was given to replace the heart she does not have. The creature is not mortal and maintains life through copulation with men. Each time, she steals a breath from her victim. Her lovers will find her highly addictive, and most will die without intervention. A monk is needed to bless the concoction given to the victim, who must be locked in his own chamber and guarded for sixteen days and nights. If he breaks free to meet with the Life Seeker, the cycle begins anew. The creatures never grow old as long as they are bedding a mortal on a daily basis. If for some reason, access is denied to the Life Seeker, she will age near a decade each day she goes without, until she finally withers.

The Life Seeker stopped singing and sashayed back to her audience. The men thumped the table with their fists in approval and lifted their wine cups in salute. One man pulled her into his lap, nuzzling her neck, then holding out a string of gold coins. The seductress took the gift and whispered in his ear. Blue tongue flicking, her eyes locked with Ai Ling’s for one brief moment. Ai Ling wrenched her gaze away, both enthralled and embarrassed.

The man turned his head, and she caught a glimpse of his face. Master Huang! Ai Ling twisted so her back was to him. With an unsteady hand, she fished a silver coin from her satin pouch and put it on the table. She weaved her way through the crowd of diners, her chin tucked, stumbling once over her own feet. She slipped through the carved double doors and nearly slammed into someone.

“Hello, pretty. Where are you rushing off to?” A man blocked the way. He was squat, with broad shoulders and powerful arms. He leered up at her, a gaping hole where one front tooth should have been. She could smell the liquor on his breath.

“It isn’t safe for pretty ladies like yourself to travel alone, you know. You need a friend with you. A friend like me.” The man wiggled his unkempt eyebrows, his face twisted in a lewd sneer.

Ai Ling tried to keep her features blank. “I do have friends, sir. They are inside. I stepped out for some fresh air.” She smiled and hoped her lie was convincing.

“Is that so? I better stay and guard you until they come out.” He squinted at her. “Why don’t we take a nice stroll while we wait? Are you from up north? So tall and pretty . . .”

The man reached out one filthy hand, making a grab at her wrist.

Such a tasty morsel.

She heard him. But he hadn’t spoken aloud. Ai Ling stumbled back, her stomach seizing as if she’d been kicked. Warmth flared at her breast, and she looked down—the jade pendant glowed so bright it appeared white.

The man lurched toward her, but stopped to slap his neck. He grimaced in surprise. She heard an insistent buzzing. A large insect hovered between their faces.

“Curse of a rabid—oww!” More wasps appeared from the eaves above, flying straight toward him.

Flailing his arms about his head in panic, he ran into the restaurant, leaving Ai Ling wide-eyed, standing alone in the alleyway. Then she bolted toward the main street, one hand clutching the pendant, hot against her skin. Ai Ling spent her second night in a shed. Two pigs and a few chickens kept her company, their scratching and snuffling noises comforting her. She removed her shoes and winced from the blisters on her toes. Her hand searched for the jade pendant in the dark, and she ran a fingertip over its ridges. It had burned bright, sent the wasps to her attacker. She couldn’t have imagined it. Had the monk blessed it before giving it to Father? She closed her eyes and saw her father’s face. She wrapped her arms around herself and fell asleep with her back pressed against the pigpen.

The crowing of a rooster startled her awake. She had not seen the creature last night, his chest puffed out now as he strutted among his hens. Light filtered through the cracks of the wooden shed.

She rummaged through her knapsack and retrieved a slice of dried mango and two salted biscuits. Everything tasted stale. Her empty stomach rumbled. But all she could do was fill it with the last swallows of water from her flask.

She eased the shed door open. The morning air rejuvenated her as she scanned the horizon. The rays of the sun were just beginning to wash the skyline. She reeked of farm animals and damp hay. Ai Ling scratched her itching scalp and wished for a mirror, then decided it was probably better she didn’t have one.

She found a well on the other side of the shed and cranked up the heavy wooden pail with stiff arms. The water was biting and cold. She drank half a flask and refilled it. It was time to continue on her journey.

After she’d marched for two hours, the trees thinned, and she caught a glimpse of an expansive lake, a calming sight. The sky was cloudless. Birds swooped overhead, at times dropping like lightning into the water.

The lake’s surface was still. She walked to the shore, sat down with care on the dirt embankment, and removed her worn cloth shoes. Never before had she walked as much as she had in the past two days. She wiggled her toes, and then massaged the arch of one foot with her thumb.

Ai Ling relaxed, a small sigh escaping her lips. Her shoulders dropped as she pressed her chest against her knees. She dipped both feet into the water. The coolness felt delicious, and she reveled in it, her toes tingling.

She reached for her knapsack and pulled out a small cotton rag. She soaked the cloth in the lake, wrung it dry, and wiped across her brow and cheeks. Her mind drifted to home, a world away now. How was Mother coping? Would she be taking her midday meal?

The water rippled in front of her.

Something slithered and tugged on her right foot.

Startled, Ai Ling recoiled as the thing grabbed her other foot and pulled harder. The force of it slammed her flat on her back.

She flailed her arms but found only air as she was dragged into the water. She clawed the embankment. The loose dirt provided no hold, and with another tug, she was below the surface. Whatever gripped Ai Ling pulled her down through the murky depths fast.

She could do nothing but watch the sunlight on the lake’s surface grow dimmer. The last small breath she had drawn dwindled to nothing, even as she willed it to last. Fighting her terror, she looked down and saw dark, slithering shapes beneath her. Hundreds of shapes skulking below, tittering. She could hear them. That was the worst part. Worse than drowning.

Suddenly her descent ended, and she was left suspended upright in the dark depths. The pressure in her ears made her head throb. Her ribs felt crushed, her lungs compressed with the burning need for air. She struggled against drawing one breath, knowing there was nothing but fetid water if she did so.

The sinister thing writhed, like a massive eel, its body as thick as a man’s, its length endless. Luminous eyes, glowing emeralds, stared at her, unblinking. She thought it had a long snout, but she couldn’t be sure.

The creature’s tail curled up and around her until her entire body was captured in its sinewy lengths. Yet those eyes never moved, floating in the water a short distance away.

Ai Ling. Your family is in ruins because of you. Because of your selfishness. Your pride. Your stubbornness. Your mother has not stopped weeping since you left.

It spoke without speaking. She struggled against its powerful grip, but the effort was lost, as if she had never tried. Her lungs spasmed for breath. Water seeped through her vision, filled her nostrils, her head. She refused to succumb to the darkness, to the monster that clutched her.

But she must breathe.

Just as she was about to surrender, to draw a mouthful of water, Ai Ling felt a hotness below her throat. Her lungs filled with air. She looked down at the pendant, burning like a star.

Images emerged in the depths, clear and bright, one object at a time. She blinked, focused. First a four-legged washstand holding a white ceramic bowl, followed by a rectangular desk stacked with books. Then her bed on the raised carved platform. Ai Ling’s throat clenched at the sight of the familiar and beloved objects from her bedchamber.

Her mother appeared last. She was sitting on the bed, head bowed as she sobbed into her hands. She looked so small, frail, and dejected.

Tears escaped from Ai Ling’s own eyes, bled from her core. She tasted the salt of them in her throat, even as the pendant flared hot against her skin and replenished her with breath once more. She cried with her mother until the fathomless lake was filled with her tears.

You have left her with nothing but a broken heart. With a debt that cannot be paid. You could have married Master Huang to help your family. But instead you shirked your duty and ran away.

The voice was like glass shards coated in honey.

The slithering forms, all murmuring their disapproval in some ancient tongue, shifted in the abyss around her. But Ai Ling understood. Selfish. Ungrateful. Useless. She wanted to tear off her ears, gouge out her eyes, anything to stop the voices inside her head.

And your father. He loved you so well. A useless daughter. Your father said you were special. Your father lied. The last word seemed to snicker and shriek. It tore through her mind, reverberated in her skull, and echoed into infinity.

Her father appeared, wearing his favorite dark blue robes. He raised one hand toward his daughter, a look of love and concern on his face. Ai Ling wanted to speak, reach her hand to him.

Then the whites of his eyes began to move as hundreds of maggots squirmed, falling from empty sockets, until his entire body was a writhing mass. His skin peeled away to expose raw flesh, then decayed to mere bones. The skeleton dissolved to silver wisps of dust, streaked away before her horrified eyes.

Your father is dead. Go home.

Ai Ling bit her tongue so she would not scream. You lie, she shrieked in her mind. But part of her believed it.

Go away. Go back.

The muscular tail squeezed tighter, smothering the precious air she had been given. It crushed her until she was nothing. Nothing but darkness and hot salty tears. Ai Ling felt someone tap her cheek. She opened her eyes and winced, her sight seared by the bright blue skies. A young man’s face appeared above hers.

“Are you all right?”

She gazed into his strange amber eyes—a color she had never seen. They were filled with concern.

No, she wanted to say, I’m not all right. My father is dead. I may as well be dead to my mother.

She wanted to curl up and cry. And sleep. Forever. She shivered, even as the strong afternoon sunlight warmed her wet clothes and damp skin.

“Get me away from here,” she whispered. It was all that she could muster.

Ai Ling felt herself gathered into strong arms as the stranger lifted her.

She leaned into him, trusting him completely in her grief and exhaustion. She shut her eyes and once more lost grasp of the world around her.