Authors: Cindy. Pon
Silver Phoenix (12 page)
It was midday. Ai Ling wiped the sweat from her brow and touched the top of her head. Her hair felt on fi re.
Two boys squatted in the middle of the road. A tan mongrel wagged its tail beside them. They clutched red fi recrackers, heads bent together, and whispered in conspiratorial tones.
Her stomach growled, reminding her that she had not eaten anything since the walnuts at daybreak. She took two final swallows of water from her flask, savoring the last drops.
The bang of firecrackers startled her. Ai Ling looked back.
The two boys scurried toward her with the dog in tow, their mouths wide in surprised fright.
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“Wah! I didn’t know it’d be so loud. It nearly took my fi ngers off!” the taller one shouted.
“You said you knew what you were doing!” His friend hopped angrily from one foot to the other.
“You made me do it.” The lanky boy looked somewhat apologetic and tugged on his queue.
“I almost lost my nose!”
The acrid smoke from the firecrackers dissipated while the two argued. Ai Ling turned and walked back toward them.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Afraid they were in trouble, the two nodded in unison.
“No problems here, miss! Everything’s fi ne!”
She smiled. “You need to be careful.” She’d always wished for younger siblings. The short one seemed quite taken with her and grinned, his eyes nearly disappearing into round cheeks.
“They’re good for scaring away evil spirits, you know. The fi recrackers,” he said.
“So they say.”
The lanky boy tucked the remaining firecracker into his dirty tunic.
“Do you know a place where I can rest and have a nice meal?” she asked.
“Yes, miss! My uncle owns the best noodle house in town.
It’s this way.” The chubby boy trotted down the dusty street with his lanky friend beside him while the dog trailed behind. Ai Ling followed the trio down the road.
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The boys led her to a crowded one-room shack at the end of a narrow alleyway. The noodle house décor consisted of a few rough-hewn mismatched wooden tables and stools. No panels covered the two small windows looking out into the alleyway. Ai Ling wondered how the establishment kept cats and other critters out at night. She examined the room’s edges and corners for scampering things. Seeing nothing that darted or crept, she sat down at one of the rickety tables. The scent of scallions and sour wine hung in the air.
Despite its coarse appearance, the noodle house indeed offered delicious fare, at least by Ai Ling’s ravenous stan-dards. Her disheveled appearance and dusty attire did not draw much attention in the busy establishment. She devoured her large bowl of beef tendon noodles in peace.
She was wiping the sheen from her face, brought on from the steaming soup and chili paste, when a roar of laughter drew her attention.
“Why don’t you go back to whatever barbaric country you sailed from?” The man who spoke was nearly as wide as he was tall, and he waved a hand at the object of his derision.
Chen Yong stood next to a table of men, obviously not a part of the group from his defensive stance. When had he come into the noodle house? Had he followed her here? Ai Ling made a face at her own foolish thought. She watched him speak in a quiet tone and turn away.
“I doubt our illustrious Master Tan needs another mutt in 53
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his manor.” A dark, gaunt man with a hard mouth snickered. His friends laughed, spewing wine on one another. “Be gone, half-breed!”
Chen Yong half turned back to the group, his fists clenched. Ai Ling’s pulse quickened. He could not possibly fight so many men. She waved her arms as if she were on a sinking boat to draw his attention. But Chen Yong did not see her. She stood too quickly and her stool tilted, clattering against the fl oor.
Chen Yong took a step back in surprise when he saw her.
She beckoned with a tiny twitch of the hand, mortified that every eye was on her. He turned, ignoring the whistles and foot stomping, and pulled a stool to her table.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his demeanor calm once more.
“Eating, of course. Their beef tendon noodles are delicious.” She nodded to the large, empty noodle bowl. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m in search of a Master Tan. He lived in this town, at least twenty years ago.” He jerked his head toward the group of men continuing with their drink and gambling. “I haven’t had much luck getting directions to his manor.”
She wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste, and Chen Yong laughed. He waved a serving boy over and ordered.
Ai Ling drummed her fingers on the splintered wooden table after his noodles arrived, trying not to stare while he ate.
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“Will you tell me what happened at the lake?” he asked as he captured thick noodles in the large soup ladle.
“You wouldn’t believe me. You’d think I was crazy.” Ai Ling wished she had enough coins to splurge on something sweet—sticky rice with candied persimmons, perhaps. . . .
“Try me.” He stopped eating and studied her with such intensity she leaned in without realizing. Ai Ling then sat back so abruptly she almost fell off the stool.
She didn’t want to talk about it, so she kept her voice low, for fear it would tremble otherwise. “I was dragged into the lake. Down deep. It wasn’t the lake anymore. It felt . . .
ancient. Evil. This black slithering thing held me. There were hundreds more. I could hear them . . . in my head.” She stared into her bowl, unable to meet his gaze.
“What did they say?” he asked.
She wished he’d start eating again, before the noodles went oversoft or the broth cooled. “That my father is dead. That I broke my mother’s heart. That it was all my fault—”
“Do you believe it?”
“No.” She lifted her chin, daring him to say anything to the contrary. He did not laugh or accuse her of madness.
“I wouldn’t believe you, if I hadn’t found you on the water’s edge myself. I was going to take a different route, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Something drew me toward the lake. A feeling. I can’t explain it.” He leaned closer, and she caught herself holding 55
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her breath. “Do you know why this happened?” he asked.
“No.”
“I’m not one to discount the unexplainable—I’ve read enough of it in the ancient texts.” He picked up his soup ladle. “Where are you headed?”
She released a small sigh, glad to be free from his scrutiny. Besides, limp noodles were not worth eating. “To the Palace. That was where my father went, six months past.”
“That’s a long journey by foot.” He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and waved the serving boy over again. “Bring some tea and dessert,” he said.
Ai Ling beamed.
They ate the tricolored flower—named for the pale chest-nut, red date, and purple yam layered into the sweet sticky rice, steamed in a fl ower-shaped bowl—in silence.
“Will you accompany me today?” he asked, breaking the silence after the dessert was devoured. “To look for Master Tan?”
Ai Ling stopped mid-chew and swallowed the sticky rice too soon. She reached for her teacup and took a quick sip.
“Why?”
“I know it’s a strange thing to ask.”
She studied the thick topknot on his lowered head. His hair was near black, with deep auburn accents. Like his eyes, it was a shade she had never seen.
“My younger brother insisted on joining me for this journey. I wanted to be alone. But now . . .” He looked up.
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“You’re the fi rst friendly face I’ve seen since leaving home.”
“If you’d like, it’s the least I can do,” she said.
Chen Yong smiled at her, his serious face turned boyish.
“I’m glad I followed you here.”
Her eyes widened, and he laughed.
“I’m jesting. I didn’t, truly. But somehow I wasn’t surprised when I saw you again,” he said.
He poured more tea for her. She wondered what he was thinking, but kept her spirit within herself this time.
They obtained directions to Master Tan’s manor after speaking with people in the market square. But information was difficult to gain. Most of the men stared at Chen Yong with suspicion. Ai Ling avoided the glances cast her way. She had drawn less scrutiny traveling alone. Was this how life was for Chen Yong? It took hours walking around the narrow streets to find Master Tan’s home. The directions they were given proved to be wrong, more than once.