“Maybe because I wasn’t under direct attack?” Ai Ling shook her head. “I don’t know how it works, but it has saved me several times since I began this journey.”
“Who gave it to you?” Li Rong asked.
“My father did.” She paused. “I also seem to have this . . . ability.”
Both brothers turned to her; Li Rong’s expression one of amusement, Chen Yong’s pensive. “You mean the ability to steal the hearts of all men who lay eyes on you?” Li Rong asked, pressing a palm to his chest.
She twisted her mouth and ignored his comment. “I think I can enter others’ bodies . . .” She did not know how to explain herself.
“Sounds rather—” Li Rong was interrupted by a thump on the shoulder from his brother.
Ai Ling drew a deep breath. “I think I can delve into other people’s spirits.” She lifted her face to see their reactions.
Li Rong had tucked his chin in surprise, his mouth slack. Chen Yong leaned toward her. “Can you explain?” he asked.
“Better yet, why not demonstrate?” Li Rong added.
“You mock me,” she said, feeling her anger rise.
“Not at all. Delve into me, it’d be a pleasure.” One corner of Li Rong’s mouth slanted upward, his dark eyes twinkling.
She’d show him. “Think something. I can hear your thoughts when I’m within your spirit.”
“Will I feel anything?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You tell me.”
Li Rong sat straight, crossing his legs in front of him. Ai Ling ignored the weight of Chen Yong’s gaze and concentrated on the invisible cord within her navel. She cast it forward, felt the irresistible tug, and entered Li Rong’s spirit.
Where Chen Yong was coiled with strength, Li Rong was loose, relaxed. Yet a power and vigor still dwelled in his limbs, an energy that could be summoned in a heartbeat. His hearing was sharper than hers, and Ai Ling heard the rustling of leaves far above, along with the quiet chirping of bugs which she had not noticed with her own ears.
She quieted her mind and listened to his.
Think of something . . . think. This is silly. I feel silly. Only for you, Ai Ling. When are you going to kiss me? That’s a thought. When will I get my kiss?
His amusement bubbled and rose to her. Ai Ling would have shaken her head if she could, but instead she released her hold, relaxed, and drew back into her own body with a hard snap.
“How long will this take?” Li Rong asked.
“I’m done.”
“Already? I didn’t feel a thing.”
Ai Ling put her brow against her knee, feeling woozy. Chen Yong leaned forward to fill her teacup, and she lifted it to her lips with a trembling hand. The warm brew steadied her, the scent of the tea leaves sharpening her senses.
“Did it work? What was I thinking?” Li Rong asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and impatience.
“You wondered when we would kiss,” she said, attempting to hide her face in the tiny teacup.
Chen Yong threw his head back and laughed, slapping his palms together.
Li Rong nearly rose to his feet. “That’s an easy guess! You guessed.”
“You also have an ache in your right shoulder. Perhaps it’s bruised from the serpent demon or from sparring yesterday. Your left ankle is scraped. It smarts and bothers you.”
Chen Yong stopped laughing, and Li Rong opened and closed his mouth. Both young men stared at her as if she’d sprouted a second head.
“Is this true, Li Rong?” Chen Yong asked.
His brother nodded without speaking. The crackle of the fire emphasized the long moments of silence. Ai Ling fought the urge to curl up and hide. Had it been a mistake to share her strange ability with them? They were only just beginning to feel comfortable together—becoming friends. How would they see her now?
“I can’t believe it,” Li Rong finally said.
“How did I look?” she asked, curiosity overriding her discomfort.
“Quiet. Like you were meditating,” Chen Yong said.
“Try it on Chen Yong,” Li Rong said.
Chen Yong leaned back. “No, thanks.”
“How do you know she hasn’t already? I didn’t feel a thing,” Li Rong said. “It’s like spiritual rape, and no one would know.”
Ai Ling blanched. She dug her nails into her palms.
“Ai Ling wouldn’t do that,” Chen Yong said in a quiet voice. “Mind your words, Li Rong.”
Her neck grew hot. Chen Yong defended her when she had done exactly as his brother accused. She decided in that moment that she would never enter Chen Yong’s spirit again. An instant sense of regret filled her. She remembered his dream, the ache and longing for a love lost, for something that could never be.
“I apologize.” Li Rong turned to her. “You can do it to me anytime.”
Ai Ling punched him in his bad shoulder, and he winced.
“Actually, don’t. My thoughts will only bring me more trouble,” Li Rong said.
“That’s an impressive ability.” Chen Yong added twigs to the fire. “Have you had it all your life?”
She propped her chin on one hand. “No. It started soon after I turned sixteen years. I thought I was imagining it at first.” Ai Ling remembered hearing Lady Wong’s words in her mind: too tall, good hips. “Since starting this journey, the ability has grown stronger.”
“Do you know why?” Chen Yong asked.
She shook her head. “Do you think I’m . . . strange?”
Chen Yong stirred the firewood. She could tell he was thinking, weighing the facts by the way his brow furrowed. “I think you have this ability for a reason.” He turned and smiled at her. “Maybe we’ll find out why on this journey.”
Li Rong nodded until his topknot swayed. “In the adventure tales I read, the hero always has a special ability.”
Ai Ling laid a thin blanket on the hard ground and arranged her knapsack as a pillow. “The heroes in those tales are men,” she said.
Li Rong rubbed his chin. “Hmm. You’re right. The women are usually there to look pretty. Add to the scenery, so to speak.”
She searched for something to throw at him. Finding nothing, she made do with a loud snort.
“But it doesn’t mean you can’t be one, Ai Ling!” Li Rong explained with boyish enthusiasm, and Ai Ling smiled despite herself.
She put her head down and drew her knees to her chest. She listened to them speak in low murmurs, allowing the dancing flames to coax her into slumber. That night she dreamed of wandering alone in the bamboo forest. But instead of a lush green, the bamboo was ink black with leaves in gradations of gray, like a painting by the old masters.
The next morning, Ai Ling awoke before the others—a first. The day had barely broken, its light too faint to penetrate the mist that swirled like phantoms among the bamboo. The fire had burned out sometime in the night, and the air was damp against her cheeks. Li Rong and Chen Yong lay curled close to the fire pit.
She drew the thin blanket tight about her shoulders, tucking the edge beneath her chin, and stared out at the silver mist. Her mind whirled, trying to make sense of all that had taken place since she left home. With the exception of the snake demon, the others had attacked her, tried to break her spirit. The writhing eel from the ancient lake had told her to go home, lied and said her father was dead. Yes, it must have lied. She couldn’t trust its words, the heartbreaking images it had conjured.
They did not want her to go to the Palace, that much was clear. She wouldn’t let them stop her.
Li Rong scuffled his feet and grunted—no doubt chasing a pretty maiden in his dreams—and woke his brother. Chen Yong sat up and stretched his arms above his head, yawning like a languid panther. She watched him from her thin cocoon, drank in his every movement.
“Good morning,” Chen Yong said in a quiet voice.
Ai Ling wrinkled her nose. “How did you know I was awake?” she whispered.