“If Lao Pan is not too far . . .”
“His home is on the way to the Palace,” Master Tan said. “It would give me great peace of mind if you met with him.” He clasped her shoulder with a warmth that made her think of Father, made her long for her own family. “Chen Yong told me about your search for your father. The fame of his intelligence, wise counsel, and kindness traveled far.”
Embarrassed, Ai Ling knew full well that her father’s infamy traveled even further.
As if reading her thoughts, Master Tan said, “I don’t believe that anyone but an honest and brilliant man can raise a daughter like you, Ai Ling.”
She could only nod.
“Will you rest here tonight?” Master Tan asked.
“Thank you, but no. I’ve already tarried long enough. I must find my father.”
“Of course. I’ll make sure you’re given the best provisions for the rest of your journey. Please at least share a midday meal with us before you leave.”
Ai Ling could never refuse a good meal, and agreed, smiling. It was a feast more than a midday meal. Master Tan must have asked his chef to prepare the best. Ai Ling could not recall a time that she had indulged in dishes this extravagant: roasted pheasant, tender spring vegetables, handpulled longevity noodles, spotted porcelain river crabs, and emperor lobsters, named for their large size—dish after dish was brought to the table.
At the end of the meal, Master Tan stood to give a toast. “Ai Ling, we wanted to send you off with a full stomach. May you never go hungry, even during your travels.”
At this, a servant entered bearing a package wrapped in dark cloth and handed it to Master Tan. The older man opened it to reveal many small sacks tied with hemp rope. “I’ve made sure you have enough food to last you your entire journey to the Palace. And a little beyond that.” Master Tan smiled. “It’s not heavy rations. There’s salted beef, squid, dried fruits, nuts, and biscuits. Also some fresh fruit if you’re willing to carry the burden.”
Master Tan gestured for the servant, who took the provisions away. “I’ve also had a detailed map copied for your travels. It shows the best route to take to the Palace. Lao Pan’s cave is marked on it as well.”
Overwhelmed by the generosity, Ai Ling struggled for the right words. “Master Tan, I can’t thank you enough for your kindness. . . .” Her voice caught in her throat. Was Father even at the Palace?
Both Fei Ming and Master Tan saw Ai Ling to the front gate. “If ever you need anything, just ask,” Master Tan said.
She remembered Bao Er. “Could the boy who helps at the inn come and visit your gardens? He has heard that the fish in your pond are very big.”
Master Tan threw his head back and laughed. “They are indeed. We not only have fish native to Xia, but some collected from other lands. Your little friend is welcome to visit anytime.”
Ai Ling waved good-bye, her heart full. She took a detour to the inn to pick up her knapsack. Bao Er skidded to her door.
“Leaving? So soon, miss?” His thin shoulders slumped as he watched her gather her belongings.
“Yes, Bao Er. But I leave with good news. Master Tan said you can stop by and look at his fish whenever you please.”
The boy hopped about in glee before throwing his arms around her neck. “Thank you, miss! You’ll come back and visit, won’t you?”
She swallowed the knot in her throat and replied yes, not knowing if she would ever return. Her thoughts were on Chen Yong as she left the city. He blamed her for what had happened. What was the use of carrying his father’s letters when their paths would probably never cross again?
8
Ai Ling walked at a brisk pace, already wondering where she would find a place to sleep. She had been frightened the first night she left home and walked through the darkness, but that was before she had encountered so much evil. It was as if the denizens of the underworld stalked her. Ai Ling shook that terrifying thought from her mind. But wasn’t it true? From the monster in the lake who had told her Father was dead, to the demon that had possessed Fei Ming. She recognized it now as the red-faced Spirit Eater from The Book of the Dead. Was it possible?
Goddess of Mercy, had it only been five days since she left home?
The sun descended, streaking the sky with ribbons of vermilion. There was no farmstead in sight. Lush terraced fields reflected the light. The fields had collected recent rains, and the crops grew from pools tinted rose, gold, and green. Ai Ling followed the muddied path beneath these terraces.
Her legs ached and her worn cloth shoes chafed her feet. What wouldn’t she sacrifice for a hot bath and meal. The comfort of the inn—for that spare room with the hard bed was a luxury in her tired mind now—and the extravagant meal at midday seemed a distant memory.
She needed to rest. A tree stump on the side of the road provided seating, and Ai Ling wondered how many other travelers had used it for this purpose. She unraveled one of the packets Master Tan’s chef had prepared, revealing strips of dried squid. She chewed on a piece along with a salted biscuit, then retrieved the last of her sugared walnuts.
They reminded her of Chen Yong. She kicked at a rock near her foot, annoyed at herself for thinking of him again. She kicked another rock in anger at him, for abandoning her so unceremoniously. Ai Ling winced and rubbed her foot, cursing her own foolishness.
She washed the rest of her dry meal down with cold tea from her flask before rising to continue on her journey.
The sun slipped lower, half hidden behind the hilltop, slowly draining the world of color. She was taking another swig of tea when she saw a shape farther down the path. A man. Not within earshot, but definitely a man. He stood unmoving in the middle of the road. There was something familiar about him, and her arms prickled as if a cold breeze had blown through her.
Ai Ling stood frozen, didn’t want to walk toward him. Even as she hesitated, the distance between them folded like a silk scarf, and she was face-to-face with him.
Chen Yong.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.
The voice was hollow. Before she could react, he grabbed her by the wrist. He drew her spirit toward him, and Ai Ling plunged into an endless void, without life and warmth. It drew her in like a whirlpool. Her spirit fought to stay within her body. But this thing was strong. Too strong.
Ai Ling stared into its eyes, and they weren’t the amber eyes of Chen Yong. They were flat and opaque—swirling emptiness. The thing smiled as it continued to tug on her spirit, pulling her slowly now as if sucking through a reed dipped into a pond. She tried to wrench her wrist away but couldn’t even twitch one finger.
A sudden slash of silver arced behind the demon, and its head thudded on the dirt beside her. Vile green curdled from the stump where the head had rested. Chen Yong stood behind his own headless image. She managed a small shake of her head, and a soft wheeze escaped her lips. Was this another demonic imposter? Chen Yong raised his sword and slashed the demon’s hand with one stroke.
The fingers still held her in a death grip. Frantic, Ai Ling shook her arm, her entire body shaking. She sank to her knees, crouching over Chen Yong’s decapitated head. It spoke. “It’s futile to fight, Ai Ling.” The head began to laugh, even as rancid curd frothed from its lips. She choked on the scream lodged in her clenched throat.
Ai Ling hunched over, rocking in terror.
The sword sank and split the high brow in half. The head cracked open like a rotten melon. Ai Ling covered her mouth as the curdlike substance bubbled onto the ground. It stank of vomit. She jerked a hand over her nose, trying not to retch, trying to suppress her hysteria. The body toppled forward. She scrabbled back on her knees, still caught by its fingers, shuddering as she tried to wrench her captured wrist free.