They whispered, and Ai Ling was glad for it. She did not want to hear Li Rong’s flattering blather. She wasn’t jealous . . . but perhaps she had become used to being the only female in their little group. She admonished herself for acting so foolish. She was not interested in Li Rong, much as he teased and flirted with her.
Her mind wandered. She could see Chen Yong from where she lay. She still hadn’t given him the letters. She didn’t want to, in the presence of others. Especially Lady Zhou. She wanted to share the moment alone with Chen Yong. It was terribly selfish, she knew.
Ai Ling shifted on the hard ground, tucking her thin blanket beneath her chin. The fact that Chen Yong slept while Li Rong and Lady Zhou flirted by the fire made her feel even more alone. She thought about the first time she had entered his spirit. Could she do it again?
She flung herself forward, felt the tautness within her navel, extended her spirit and snapped into his being. His body was completely relaxed. He drew deep breaths, and he dreamed. She stayed with him, unable to pull herself back, wanting this closeness. She dreamed with him.
They sat in a beautiful pagoda set in a lush garden. The flowers bloomed in bright yellows and reds, without scent. The girl beside him laughed, peered up with adoration. She reached over to caress his cheek.
“I miss you, Chen Yong. I had no choice, please forgive me.”
The girl could not have been more than thirteen years, but she spoke as a grown woman, with a regretful sadness. Ai Ling felt her heart, his heart, crush with an empty ache and longing, with such anguish it was difficult to breathe. . . .
The scene wavered, dispersed. He sat in the study grinding ink. A sheet of neatly written characters lay on the desk. I am going home, read the flowing strokes. Someone entered the study and looked over his shoulder, but he did not turn to see who. It no longer mattered.
He practiced forms in a wide courtyard. He whirled in the wind as if he had wings, his spirit soaring, free. He leaped in the air and was surrounded by galloping waves, on a sea that was unfamiliar to him, the waters a churning black. He landed on the deck of a ship, looking out to the endless horizon. The sun crept upward, bleeding crimson. . . .
“Help!”
Feng’s agitated whinnying sounded almost like human screams.
Ai Ling bolted straight up and gasped as she snapped back within herself. She felt winded, unable to catch a full breath, and rose unsteadily to her feet. Chen Yong was already standing, his sword raised. The fire flickered low but cast enough light to reveal Li Rong struggling with a massive writhing thing just beyond it.
Chen Yong sprang toward his brother. The monstrous serpent raised its head and hissed. A long forked tongue darted out. Its scales were a stunning bloodred, the muscles beneath them moving in powerful undulation as it wrapped itself around Li Rong.
“Sssstand back or your foolissssh brother diessssss.” The serpent turned its head, and she saw Lady Zhou’s face, except her wide eyes were now vertical slits, glowing like golden lantern light. The face merged with the strong neck of the serpent, the pale skin of human flesh melding with the crimson scales.
Li Rong continued to struggle.
“You liked me well enough when we shared kissssssesss.” It flicked its tongue toward Li Rong, who jerked his face away in terror.
Chen Yong’s legs were in a wide stance, his sword high. Ai Ling knew he would not attack while the serpent gripped Li Rong. Murmuring a prayer, she unsheathed her dagger, crouched and edged out of the circle of light cast by the dying fire. She steadied her trembling hands. Li Rong needed her help. She clung to this thought. She sneaked around the serpent demon’s massive coils and twitching tail; Chen Yong saw her, she knew, but she dared not meet his eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Ai Ling vaulted through the air and plunged her dagger into the back of the serpent’s head. The sharp blade sank in to the hilt, and there was a sizzling sound, reminding her of meats spitting above hot coals at the market. She tried to pull out the dagger to strike again but could not budge its glowing hilt, burning cold within her hand. The demon shrieked and slammed its tail on the ground. The pungent smell of burning flesh hit Ai Ling’s nostrils; her stomach seized. She saw Chen Yong grab Li Rong by the arms and drag him away from the writhing beast. The serpent’s tail whipped toward her like an angry eel, knocking her off her feet.
Li Rong raced to Ai Ling, pulling her back. The demon lunged at Chen Yong. But he twisted out of the way. Chen Yong jumped forward and sank his sword into the thick body, right below its human face. The demon hissed and bucked as blood the color of pitch flowed from the wound. Chen Yong withdrew his sword and attacked again with a wide swing, and more of the thick ooze erupted as the head tottered on its thick coil. The demon shrieked in the throes of death, its mouth a red slash, the dark tongue lolling out.
Chen Yong raised his sword again, and the head thumped down at his feet. Dark blood splattered across the dirt. The shrieking stopped, but a faint ghost ring reverberated through the night. The thing convulsed violently before becoming still. Ai Ling’s throat felt thick from the raw, potent scent of blood.
Chen Yong wiped his sword on the scales of the dead beast, smearing the brilliant red corpse with its own black blood. He turned to the fire and tossed the wood he had collected earlier that night into it. The flames leaped, illuminating the grisly scene. The serpent’s body stretched out the length of at least five men, its width as thick as a man’s torso. The powerful head with the porcelain face lay inert now, in a pool of black. The face was almost beautiful, if not for the forked tongue that hung limply from its mouth.
“The heavens help me,” Li Rong choked out.
“What in the underworld happened?” Chen Yong asked.
“We were flirting. And kissed a little. Then she started moving lower . . .” He threw an embarrassed glance toward Ai Ling. She managed to keep her expression blank. “And the next thing I knew, there was a monster between my legs!”
Chen Yong snorted. “That’ll teach you to keep your bird to yourself.”
Li Rong’s mouth dropped. He closed it, then opened it again, like a gaping fish out of water. She looked from Chen Yong’s stern expression to Li Rong’s look of incredulity, and burst into laughter. She bent over and laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks. The two brothers joined in, and soon the night rang with their hysterical merriment.
Li Rong grinned at her sheepishly. “This would never have happened if you had accepted my affections in the first place, Ai Ling.”
She threw her hands up in the air. “Don’t blame your failed romantic pursuits on me,” she said. “You’d be her evening snack if it weren’t for us!”
“You certainly know how to choose them,” Chen Yong said.
“When do women turn into serpents but in the old ghost tales?” Li Rong managed to look even more chagrined.
“Lao Pan tried to warn me,” Ai Ling said, barely above a whisper. “Perhaps the demons and monsters in The Book of the Dead exist after all.”
Li Rong shook his head. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen her change shape before me.”
“There isn’t much I wouldn’t believe after what I’ve encountered these past few days,” Chen Yong said, his sword still drawn.
They stood in silence, each staring at the carcass of the serpent demon. Then slowly, the crimson scales grew darker until they became ebony in color. The monstrous form collapsed on itself in a plume of black ash, leaving an outline of its length on the dirt. Ai Ling shuddered. They could have died this evening.
Something silver glittered in the ash. Her dagger. The blade was pristine, as if she’d never thrust it into the serpent demon’s neck. She slid the dagger back into its sheath, saying a small prayer of gratitude to Master Tan and Lao Pan.