Fury of the Phoenix (12 page)

But he had been away for more than a week.

The women were seated across from each other in the reception hall, playing cards. He knew from playing with Silver Phoenix that she hated to lose. He drank in the sight of her and was turning to leave when Mei Gui spoke.

“Master Zhong has returned?”

He peered again through the peephole.

His love looked surprised. “Yes, this morning. Did you see him?”

Mei Gui laughed. “Oh, no. I never see Master Zhong unless you see him. I could just tell.” She drew another card and giggled. “You were glowing all day. Like a festival lantern.”

Silver Phoenix blushed and pursed her lovely lips. “Don’t tease.”

“Are you in love with him?” Mei Gui put down her cards and appraised her handmaid with a smile.

Silver Phoenix lowered her gaze, shifted in her seat. “Mistress…”

Zhong Ye realized his pulse was racing much too fast, and he leaned into the wall, both palms pressed against the rough wood.

“He’s certainly handsome but so…intimidating,” Mei Gui said. “And serious. And determined. Not to mention—” She gave Silver Phoenix a look and glanced down meaningfully between her thighs.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart thudding so hard he was certain the women could hear it. He really should go; he shouldn’t be spying on the woman he loved. Despite all that he had faced this past week, every challenge he had met in life, Zhong Ye was certain he was not prepared for this conversation.

He opened his eyes and saw that Silver Phoenix’s heart-shaped face had flushed to an alluring pink. “Mistress, I do care for him. He is intelligent and ambitious. And I think he’s very handsome, yes.” She tilted her chin in that way of hers, and he wanted to crash through the wall and obliterate the vast space between them. “Besides”—and her voice dropped lower—“love isn’t all about sex.”

Zhong Ye tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. He took one step back as Mei Gui uttered an
uncharacteristic yelp. “My darling Phoenix is in love,” she said in a singsong chant.

He didn’t hear anything else, as he floated through the secret passageways, completely forgetting his original task.

T
he next afternoon the crew gathered to resume their shuen lessons, which had been canceled the previous day. The weather remained overcast, and thick clouds robbed the sea of color. Ai Ling had donned a pink tunic, blanched so pale from the sun she felt as if she could fade into her surroundings. She was encrusted in salt; there was a thin film on her skin, in her hair, and covering all her clothing. She had been looking forward to the lesson, looking forward to clearing her mind.

After more than eight weeks of practice, it was apparent that Peng was the strongest among them. Chen Yong continued to stroll the line of students holding his bamboo rod. He worked with each person on technique and
form but rarely spoke to Ai Ling. Today they stretched and cycled through some basic forms to limber up. Chen Yong then waved her to the front of the class.

She was so taken aback she didn’t move. “Could you please join me for a demonstration, Ai Ling?” he asked, suppressing a grin.

All eyes turned to her, so she marched forward, chin up. She stopped in front of him. He was dressed in beige today, the edges of his sleeves chased with silver embroidery. He appeared leaner and more muscular than when their journey had begun. She had seen him eager to learn, helping with the sails, moving large cargo boxes, and winding ropes as thick as her wrist. His face had tanned, so his eyes appeared even more golden. They met hers now as he pressed a fist into his palm and bowed.

She mirrored him.

“We’ve just begun to learn some simple sparring routines.” He nodded to her. “Let’s review.”

Chen Yong shot a fist toward her chin, and she swept it aside. A straight palm like a knife’s edge to her temple. She ducked and whirled. Punch to the solar plexus, kick to the knee, and a hard jab to the abdomen. Ai Ling blocked each parry, light on her feet, as they circled each other. She took the offensive stance, mimicking
Chen Yong’s attacks, allowing him to display the defensive techniques to the others.

After throwing the last punch in the routine, she drew her feet together to bow. But Chen Yong glided into a roundhouse kick to her head, which she barely sidestepped. She stared at him wide-eyed. He hadn’t taught beyond what they just demonstrated. What was he doing?

His intense gaze never left hers, and he gave an imperceptible nod, as if in encouragement. She copied his roundhouse kick and almost connected. Taken by surprise, he jumped back just in time. But now he was a streak of motion, of punches and kicks that came too fast. They weren’t full strength, but solid attacks that would bruise if they made contact.

She blocked Chen Yong’s every move instinctively, drawing on some distant memory of sparring in fragrant meadows and empty courtyards. Ambition and anger burned deep within her, expanded. She hated to lose. And she wanted it all.

She attacked now, each thrust of the fist, snap of the foot thrilling yet terrifying. Chen Yong rolled, twisted, and dodged. His eyes narrowed; his astonishment was evident. Suddenly he grabbed her wrist, swept her legs from under her with one foot, and
threw a strike that didn’t quite touch her throat.

Ai Ling lay on her back stunned, her heart pounding in her ears. Someone gave a low whistle. Chen Yong still held her wrist, his touch cool against her skin. He helped her to her feet. “That was impressive,” he said. He bowed, and the class burst into applause and began speaking all at once.

But she didn’t return the bow. The exhilaration from the fight dwindled, replaced by a growing sense of horror. Flashes of memories pushed against her mind, like swollen fruit about to burst. She grabbed her head and ran.

Tripping below deck, she crashed into the cramped cabin and slammed the door. She fell onto the berth, clasping her knees to her chest. Her heart would not slow. Her breath would not slow. She was burning from the inside out.

“Ai Ling?”

She hadn’t heard Chen Yong enter. Why was he here? He towered over her, and she wished he’d go away.

“I didn’t mean to make you angry,” he said. “You seem such a natural I only wanted to gauge your abilities.” He touched her arm, and she jerked away from him, curling tighter. “You’ve been practicing on your own?”

She laughed. The sound was harsh in her ears. Mad. “No.”

He crouched down, so their faces were level. “Was it your power?”

“Shuen is not my power. It’s yours.”

Chen Yong flinched. His concern was warmth against her skin. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said in a soft voice.

Her head sagged. “I don’t know.” It felt as if she were being watched. Or perhaps as if she were watching someone. Somewhere else. Her mind cluttered. Crowded.

Chen Yong brushed the back of his cool hand against her cheek. “You’re feverish. I’ll ask Lao Lu to prepare a tonic.” He drew a blanket over her before slipping from the cabin.

Ai Ling stared at the flickering lantern in the corner until she forgot where she was, forgot who she was.

The fever lasted for two days. Chen Yong helped nurse her back to health with Lao Lu’s tonics. She stayed below deck during the day because the glaring sun reflecting off the endless sea hurt her head. On the third day she felt completely herself again.

It was difficult to believe that they’d been on the
Gliding Dragon
for more than two months. She had become used to life at sea and the company. Now when she made her way topside, the crew was bustling with more energy than usual. They chattered in loud voices about their
impending arrival in Jiang Dao. Most had traveled there before, but it was new territory for a few. Yam Head and Xiao Hou bobbed at Ai Ling in greeting. “Today’s the day, miss!” Xiao Hou exclaimed. “Couldn’t ask for better sailing conditions either.”

She smiled. She had grown fond of the two boys, regarded them as the little brothers that she’d never had. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky. The wind blew strong, filling the sails, and she lifted her face into it.

Yam Head pointed at a flock of seabirds flying overhead. “They’re coming from land.”

“And what will you do once we dock?” she asked.

“The captain said he could make use of me. As errand boy and such. I’ll be given an allowance and a place to sleep!” He grinned wide, the exuberance gleaming in his eyes.

“And my father is taking me traveling through the kingdom,” Xiao Hou added, tugging his queue with excitement.

She left them to their tasks and joined Chen Yong, who was chatting with Peng at the ship’s bow. The captain turned as she approached and smiled. “I’m glad you won’t miss our landing. No matter how many times I’ve arrived in Jiang Dao, the excitement doesn’t lessen.”

“Peng believes he can take us to my father,” Chen Yong said.

“When Chen Yong told me his father’s Xian name, I didn’t recognize it. But when he mentioned that he had been a diplomat at the Emperor’s court, one man instantly came to mind.”

“That’s wonderful! But how can we know it’s truly him?” she asked.

“We can’t,” Chen Yong replied, gazing out to sea. “We won’t know for certain until we meet him.”

Ai Ling wanted to reach for him, reassure him but fisted her hands instead.

“Master Deen lives in one of the large estates in the valleys of the southern province.” Peng turned to Ai Ling. “I know of one other man who has traveled to Xia as a diplomat, but this is a good place to start.”

Yam Head was the first to shout and point to the horizon. Nearly everyone converged on deck, moving to the bow. Before too long, blue-tinged cliffs emerged in the distance, thrusting high over the churning black sea. Ai Ling’s arms prickled at the sight. The sea gods favored their arrival, and the sails billowed, pushing them with great speed toward the kingdom of Jiang Dao.

Yen gave one shout, and the excited crew dispersed, to take their positions and return to the task of bringing the
Gliding Dragon
safely to shore.

“They’ve built a harbor, but there are a lot of rocks
beneath the water, hidden dangers,” Peng said. “It takes careful maneuvering.”

Ai Ling’s eyes widened as the jagged mountains loomed before them.

Peng smiled. “Don’t worry. Yen has done this many times before and makes it look easy.”

“Is the entire kingdom like this?” Chen Yong nodded to the slate blue cliffs, the corners of his eyes crinkled against the sunshine and the sea’s reflection.

“No. It’s very green with gentle slopes and valleys. But Jiang Dao is enveloped by these cliffs, a wonderful natural defense. Once we travel beyond them, you’ll see how the land lies.”

Ai Ling brushed stray wisps of hair from her face. “How does it feel?” she asked Chen Yong.

“It feels a little like coming home,” he said. “Almost as if I’ve seen these mountains before.”

She stared at the majestic cliffs. Would Chen Yong choose to remain here if he did find his birth father?

He grinned widely, his face softening. “I feel hopeful. And nervous—” He broke off, suddenly serious. “What will happen if I actually find him? Will he even accept me?”

“Of course he will.” She wanted to say more, but his expression stopped her.

He gave a slight shake of his head. “He left Xia
immediately after I was born. He never tried to look for me.”

She touched his shoulder then. “You don’t know that.”

The ship hurtled over the water, and she was amazed it did not smash to pieces with the force of the swells. She and Chen Yong gripped the railing as the ship soared toward the coast. She gasped, and he laughed beside her. There was one final push as if from the Queen Empress of Heaven herself, and the ship glided like a whisper through a narrow channel and into the sheltered harbor.

The entire crew burst into applause.

There were only a few other large ships docked at the wharf. No grand city, just a small fishing village, filled with mud-colored huts, square and squat, greeted them.

Ai Ling stood on her tiptoes and stared down at the people. Was this what Chen Yong’s father looked like? The men were tall, with pale yellow and light brown hair. Their brows were high; their noses, narrow and pointed. They dressed simply, in form-fitting tunics and trousers in muted earth tones. The men shouted at one another as they secured the
Gliding Dragon
to a giant post driven into rock. She couldn’t make out many words, they spoke so rapidly.

“Can you understand what they’re saying?” she asked
Chen Yong, who had joined her again after speaking with Peng on the bridge.

“Only snippets,” he said. “The foreigners have arrived; that much I caught.”

She studied his face. “You don’t look anything like them.”

“I don’t look anything like anyone.” He gave her a wry smile.

Wasn’t that the truth? she thought. His features had become so familiar she’d forgotten how different from everyone else he appeared.

Peng strode across the deck. “It’s too late to set out today for the journey to the inner parts of the kingdom. We’ll be spending all afternoon unloading our cargo. Feel free to go onshore, and look around if you’d like.”

“Without you?” she asked.

Peng smiled. “Chen Yong knows the language well enough to get by.”

“But what will people think? I haven’t seen any women yet. Do they travel unchaperoned?”

Peng laughed. “Ai Ling, in Jiang Dao the women behave however they please.”

She glanced toward the small village and could not fathom what he meant.

They disembarked with Jiang money in their pockets, gold and silver coins similar to their own, but with different marks on them. Peng had given them the coins, explaining that it made for easier trading, especially since they had foreign faces. She was unsteady when she finally stepped onto shore, still feeling the lurch of the sea despite the solid ground beneath her.

It smelled entirely different. Like the earth, like moss and flowers. She drew a deep breath, wide-eyed. Chen Yong glanced at her, and she saw that he smelled it, too.

“It smells like…land,” he said.

“Like wet earth and—”

“Life,” he interjected.

“And the colors…” No longer did her world consist solely of varying shades of blue or gray. Or the brown masts and bleached planks of the ship. She marveled at the potted daisies blooming in bursts of magenta and gold, the deep greens of the hedges manicured into square columns outside a storefront.

They walked on wobbling legs toward the little village nestled beneath the cliffs. “What is
that
smell?” She raised her nose and sniffed. It smelled like burned honey, and her stomach grumbled.

Chen Yong chuckled and covered the pouch at his
waist. “You will not rob me to clean the whole village out of its food.”

She made a face at him but laughed as she rushed on to find the source of the delicious scent. A woman who was her mother’s age stood in front of a cozy hut. There was a giant stone hearth tucked in the back, and the ground was strewn with baskets, all stuffed with objects of various shapes—long ovals, square and round. They didn’t look like anything one could eat, but the aroma!

The woman greeted them with a hello, or literally, good meeting, as Peng had once translated for her. Chen Yong spoke, surprising Ai Ling again with his ease at speaking the language. The Jiang woman replied too quickly for Ai Ling to understand. Her wheat-colored hair was in two braids, draped over her ample bosom. Her face was ruddy, and her round eyes were a clear light blue. She wore a loose dark green dress with a white tunic tied over it.

The woman cast a curious glance her way, and Ai Ling looked down, embarrassed that she had been gawking.

“It’s bread. She bakes the loaves in the hearth. Some are filled with nuts or dried fruit.”

“Which one smells of burned honey?”

Chen Yong chuckled. “Hmm. I’m not certain I know how to say ‘burned’ in Jiang.” He turned to the woman
and spoke again, this time in a more hesitant tone. She nodded at a tray on a low table, and Ai Ling was beside it before Chen Yong could translate.

“Fresh from the hearth, she said. Filled with dried grapes and covered in sugar.”

Ai Ling leaned over the round lumps and inhaled. “Can we have four, please?”