The only one that had fascinated her more was The Book of the Dead.
Ai Ling moved on to the third tree along the path. This one looked like an ordinary peach tree, lush with green leaves, but without fruit. She started at the sight of a six-headed vermilion hawk perched on one of its lower branches. The heads twisted in every direction, seeing everything, the sixpointed beaks as lethal as daggers. It flapped its wings, the span as wide as her own arms outstretched, but stayed on its perch.
A sudden movement from a higher branch revealed a nine-headed feline, a pantherlike creature with golden fur. All nine heads hissed in unison as it extended sharp claws and climbed onto a lower branch. Ai Ling backed away from the tree, but not before reading the placard partially buried at its roots.
THE TREE OF IMMORTALITY.
She turned and nearly slammed into Chen Yong. He stopped her with both hands and peered up at the hawk and the nine-headed golden panther.
“The most ordinary-looking tree is the most protected in this garden,” he said, dropping his hands from her shoulders.
Her father had told her of the Tree of Immortality when she was a young girl—the tales always fascinated her. It only bore fruit once in many human lifetimes, but the mortal fortunate enough to eat from the peach would live more than a thousand years. She never understood why anyone would want to live for so long and continuously lose loved ones, to watch them age and die. But many stories were told of men and women who murdered and betrayed for a taste of the fruit—for the possibility of immortality.
They walked past nine more trees, simply observing, silent in their awe.
There was the tree with leaves that were giant eyes blinking in the wind. The irises were of every shade imaginable, pink, green, scarlet, and orange. The pupils were all shaped differently, from circles to squares and diamonds, swirls and stars. The eye leaves rustled under the gentle breeze of the heavenly mountain, all blinking, and all-seeing. THE OBSERVANT TREE.
“What do you think it means?” Ai Ling asked no one in particular.
“I don’t know, but it makes the hairs on my arms stand on end,” Li Rong said.
She felt the same way.
Another tree was subject to the change of seasons every few minutes—one moment in full bloom with ripe red fruits like apples, in the next all the fruits plummeted to the ground and withered. The leaves crumpled from brown to black until they decayed into nothing. The branches were bare before budding leaves appeared and red fruit began to form again. They stood watching the seasons change through two cycles, amazed by the speed, disconcerted by something so against nature in their world. The placard below read THE TREE OF LIFE.
The compression of the seasons haunted and disturbed Ai Ling, and she averted her face and walked on.
The winding path finally led them to the steps of the jade pagoda. Its sloping roof was hewn of gold, the pillars of white jade, and the rest, jade of the clearest green. Ai Ling climbed the steps, knowing in her heart that she had been summoned here. Chen Yong and Li Rong trailed behind her. They had followed her through the gates and into the garden, as if accepting her as their leader in this otherworldly realm. But she did not feel like a leader.
A long rosewood table stretched across the diameter of the circular pagoda. A silk screen embroidered with mountains and clouds shaded the sunlight from one side. The rest of the pagoda was open to the outdoors, with a view of the gardens and trees beyond, a glint of water visible among the flowers.
A Goddess sat regally behind the table, her three heads held high. One faced her audience directly, while the other two faced right and left. They looked to be identical in their features, ebony hair swept up in loops and adorned with pearls. The Goddess’ faces were lucent, pale. Long, slender eyes lined in black examined them intently, making Ai Ling feel as if she stood in her underclothing. A fine, straight nose graced each face, above a curved mouth touched with a hint of lotus pink. Her features were perfect, yet the Goddess with her austere expression was remote, above them, beyond any measure of human beauty.
Four arms protruded from her torso, two on each side. One hand held a giant square-shaped chop carved from jade, another a calligraphy brush, while the third grasped an ink stick, and the final hand held a blank rice-paper scroll.
“Ai Ling, you and your friends are welcome in the gardens of the Golden Palace. No mortal has passed through those gates in countless centuries.”
Why had they been allowed entrance? Ai Ling bowed her head, not knowing what else would be appropriate. Chen Yong and Li Rong both dropped to their knees beside her.
The Goddess set her brush down. “That is not necessary.” She waved one hand imperiously. “Please sit.”
Carved chairs of jasper and jade appeared. Ai Ling fell into the jade chair, her awe at this magic dampened by her anxiety. Chen Yong and Li Rong took the jasper seats that flanked her.
“You called us here . . . Lady?” Ai Ling did not know how to address her.
“I am the Goddess of Records, but you may call me Lady.” Only then did Ai Ling realize that all six lips moved, each mouth speaking the words in unison. The combined voices were dreamy and soft, soothing. The Goddess placed the objects she was holding on her desk and clasped elegant hands in her lap.
“That jade piece”—the Goddess lifted one slender finger toward her necklace—“was a gift from me to you. Your father gave it to you before he left on his journey, as he was told to do. It was given to him by one of the Gods, disguised as a wise monk. Your father, being wise himself, took his advice to heart.”
Ai Ling looked down at her pendant and saw that it was aglow, bathing her skin in a calming warmth. She clasped it in one hand, remembering the last time she had spoken with Father in private, by the plum tree in their front courtyard.
“Why is ‘spirit’ carved onto it, Lady?” she asked.
“The pendant carries a protective spirit. We feared you would be the target of strong enemies. Evil enemies.” The movement of the Goddess’ mouths became hypnotic. Ai Ling glanced at her companions; they were looking at the Lady with rapt expressions, as if unable to turn away.
“Protective spirit,” Ai Ling repeated.
The Goddess nodded. “A powerful spirit to help guard you. You were chosen for this task before you were born. It seems you have also reincarnated with strong powers of your own—neither planned nor foreseen. The fates work in strange ways, indeed. These abilities will help you to kill Zhong Ye, who holds your father captive at the Palace.”
Kill? Who was Zhong Ye? It couldn’t be real. Her hand trembled on the jade pendant, and its light emanated through her fingers. The warmth washed over her again, and she felt calmer.
“Is my father all right?” Ai Ling asked.
“Yes. For now. Zhong Ye uses your father to lure you to him.” The Goddess’ mouths murmured, as if in condolence.
“I don’t understand.”
“Zhong Ye has played the guise of counselor to numerous emperors for over three centuries. As a mortal, he was intelligent and cunning; now, in his unnatural state of life, he is even more so. He fell in love with you in your last incarnation. But his plans to wed you were thwarted. Zhong Ye wants you still.”
Her world reeled in dizzying circles. This man wanted her . . . loved her in a past life? Ai Ling felt queasy and lightheaded, sickened by the thought that Father was a prisoner because of her—revolted that Zhong Ye desired her for a bride.
She sensed both brothers turn to her, but she could not look at them. Li Rong reached for her hand and squeezed her damp palm, bringing the sting of tears to her nostrils. Ai Ling sought Chen Yong’s eyes as Li Rong withdrew his hand. His high brow was knitted in concern.
Ai Ling swallowed the knot in her throat. “How do I do this, Lady? Kill Zhong Ye?”