Silver Phoenix (11 page)

“I am Chen Yong.”

It was like a trick of the light, how his features appeared Xian from one angle, and then quite foreign with a half turn of his head. He wasn’t fully Xian, she realized with shock.

The idea had never crossed her mind before. You were either Xian or not.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

She had not thought about it but heard her stomach growl at his question. She was starving.

“I bought some pork buns at the inn. They must be cold by now, but still tasty.”

Chen Yong passed two large buns to her. The breading 44

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was thick and a little sweet. The stuffing was savory, and the broth ran down her chin and fi ngertips.

“You’re hungry, then.” He smiled, stating the obvious.

Ai Ling nodded, abashed. The buns had disappeared like a conjurer’s trick.

“You travel alone?” he asked.

The skin on her arms prickled, reminding her how alone she truly was, how vulnerable. One glance at Chen Yong told her he didn’t realize the weight of his simple question.

She looked away.

“I’m searching for my father.” Ai Ling felt her throat clench. She swallowed hard. “But . . . but I think he may be dead.” Sobs overcame her, even as she tried to suppress them. She wiped a hand across her face in frustration. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she had been carried like a babe in the arms of this stranger, now she’d become a blubbering fool before him.

“We travel for similar reasons,” he said, making no mention of her tears.

They didn’t speak again that night. Ai Ling laid her head back down on her knapsack and watched the dancing flames. Chen Yong’s profile, bent over a book, was the final image she carried with her into sleep.

Ai Ling’s eyes fl ew open, and she sat up, confused.

“Good morning,” Chen Yong said. He was sitting by the spot where the fire had been. All traces of it were gone, 45

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swept away. He held the same book in his hands. Had he even slept?

“I made some tea. It may be cold now.”

He poured from a small silver kettle. She nursed the cup in cold hands, turning it. It reflected a distorted image of her curious face across its smooth plane.

“It’s made of eng. From abroad. A gift from my father when he learned I was traveling.”

“It’s foreign? Is your father . . . ?” she asked.

“No. My adoptive parents are Xian. I don’t know who my birth parents are.”

She sipped the lukewarm tea, not knowing what to say. It soothed her, and the fragrance of jasmine reminded her of home. She rummaged through her knapsack and fished out a small bundle wrapped in a deep purple handkerchief. She untied the twine with care, revealing a heap of walnuts.

“My mother cooked them in sugar.” She passed some to Chen Yong.

He popped one in his mouth. “Delicious. Walnuts are a rarity.”

“They were a special treat. For my birthday.” Had it really been less than a week ago?

“How many years?” Chen Yong crunched on another walnut.

She sipped her tea before replying. “Seventeen.”

“Seventeen years? And wandering on your own?” He raised his dark brows.

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Ai Ling felt anger and guilt rise within her. “I am searching for my father. There’s no one else but me. My mother remains at home.”

“It’s dangerous for a girl to travel alone.” He studied her, not having to mention how he had found her.

“I do what I must. Just because most girls are sequestered within the inner quarters does not mean I have to be.” What was she saying? She had abided by the rules like every other girl until two days ago, when she’d decided to leave home.

But Chen Yong’s admonishing tone irked her.

“You speak as if I made the rules of decorum,” he said, and did not reach for another walnut, as she clutched the bundle to herself now.

“No, you didn’t make the rules. But I would wager a silver coin that you think a girl’s place is sweeping the front courtyard and spoon-feeding her husband dinner broth each evening.” She glared at Chen Yong, not caring that she spoke so forwardly.

His eyes widened, and then crinkled with a wry smile. “I admit that doesn’t sound so bad right now.”

Somehow his confession didn’t feel like a victory.

“Are you not betrothed?” She couldn’t stop herself. Anything to provoke a reaction.

The humor was wiped from his face. “No.”

She allowed herself a small sense of triumph. It was short-lived.

“Are you?” he asked.

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Chen Yong waited, vexing her with his deliberate silence.

“I ran away to avoid a betrothal,” she said after a few moments. There was nothing to hide. She had made the right decision.

Chen Yong paused for a moment before speaking, the surprise obvious on his face. “Our first duty is to our parents.” His words brought back the hissed accusations from the dark abyss: selfish, ungrateful, useless daughter. She blinked, unwilling to shed more tears in front of him.

“My father would not have wanted it. Nor my mother.”

She stood, pulled the knapsack over her shoulder. Chen Yong rose with agility. He stood a hand taller than she.

“I should go,” Ai Ling said. She owed him thanks. He had saved her life, after all.

He remained silent, looking down at her, his face never betraying his thoughts. His golden eyes were tinged with green. She dropped her gaze, hating herself for noticing.

What was he thinking? Without conscious effort, she cast herself toward him, threw an invisible cord from her spirit to his. She felt it waver like a drunken serpent, fumble, and then latch. The sudden pulling and tautness within her navel surprised her.

She remembered watching her father fish once. He’d offered her the bamboo rod when a fish took the bait, tugging so hard against the line she was afraid the rod would break. It felt like that.

She felt an irresistible draw toward her hooked target, 48

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followed by a strange snap sensation. She was within Chen Yong’s being.

Ai Ling noticed his higher vantage point immediately. She had always been told she was tall for a girl, but she didn’t look so from his eyes. His body was more rested than hers.

There were no knots of anxiety in his shoulders; no soreness in his neck. A power and strength unfamiliar to her coursed through his limbs, a litheness coiled within him.

She stared at herself. She stood in a stance of defiance, arms folded across her chest. Did she always look so child-ish, so stubborn?

Was that Chen Yong’s thought or her own? She quieted her spirit, eavesdropped within his mind.
Feisty.
She plucked the one word that flitted to her from his thoughts. It emerged with a sense of amusement and surprised admiration. Suddenly she felt ashamed that she was intruding. She was curious, but it felt wrong. She drew herself back reluctantly, felt the snap as she returned to her own being.

The world tilted for a brief moment, and she tried to cover her unsteadiness by fussing with her knapsack. She blinked away the black spots that floated across her vision.

What was happening to her? Had he felt her trespass? She glanced up at him. His expression had not changed. She straightened.

“I can never repay your kindness. Thank you.” She spoke from the heart. He deserved that much.

“And to you, Ai Ling. Take good care.”

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She blushed, turned so he would not see, and walked away. She looked back once, to find him still standing in the same spot, and waved. He lifted one hand in farewell. Ai Ling hoped he would follow. She quickly cast the thought aside as if the desire had never existed.

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