The Last Dragon of the East

Chapter 3

3

F inding customers in want of my… unique service is a surprisingly difficult affair. Most people don’t believe me when I say I can help them find their Fated One for the low, low cost of ten bronze coins or a quarter of a silver nugget.

Any higher, and they claim I’m a charlatan.

Any lower, and they claim I’m a charlatan.

Even when they agree to my price, some still call me—surprise, surprise—a charlatan.

I receive referrals from time to time through my happy customers, but it’s hardly a steady stream of income. I’ve only just started matchmaking as an official business, and my reputation has yet to truly precede me. There are many who doubt my capabilities, scoffing at the mere mention of magic and threads of fate. Tall tales for children, they say. And why should they take me at my word when they could simply go to the local matchmaker, who has a proven track record and sway within the community?

But I digress.

The sun has not yet risen when I wake the following morn. My mother sleeps soundly, lying on her side. She claims it’s easiest for her to breathe that way. Carefully, I abandon my blankets and drape them over her brittle body for warmth before pulling on my outer robe to combat the frigid morning air.

I head downstairs, collect the four full coin pouches from my secret cache beneath the floorboards. It’s where my father used to hide the teahouse’s earnings from would-be thieves. I have since adopted it as my own. I count out every bronze coin and silver nugget as I hastily brush through my long dark brown hair and pin it back in a high bun tied by a thin piece of red ribbon.

In the Northern Kingdom of Xuě, most men and women alike wear their hair in such a way, for cutting a single strand would be a slight against the beloved parents who gifted us with our healthy locks. It’s why the most popular hauls of the traveling merchants are of sparkling hair clips and pins. The merchants make an enviable profit, certainly more so than my teahouse. The richer folk up in the Pearl District can afford to dress their hair with gold and silver, rubies and jade. The rest of us settle for lengths of ribbon; the more vibrant the color, the more expensive the dye—and therefore the more you have to pay for such a luxury.

Once every coin is accounted for, I set out to see Doctor Qi before first light.

His shop is on the other side of the city near the markets, located in a rickety old shanty house. The whole structure leans slightly to the left, its foundation having been chipped away by decades of exposure to wind and rain, slowly sinking into the muddy, frozen remains of the emptied lake. Two small dragon figurines carved from bamboo sit atop his doorframe, diligently warding off evil.

I spot the doctor inspecting the rickety hinges of his shop’s front door.

“Ah, just the man I was looking for,” I say with a big grin. “How are you on this fine day, Doctor?”

Doctor Qi glares up at me, his one dead eye pivoting slightly to the left in its socket. “Must you always be so loud, boy?”

He’s a little stump of a man, coming up no higher than my chest. I have been told that the doctor was once incredibly handsome, with long black hair and the strength to move mountains. But I’ve always known him to be bald, scowling, and hunched over so severely his back is practically folded in two. Were it not for the cane he carries around, I doubt he could manage even two steps without falling over his own feet.

“But just the other day, you said I had a lovely voice. Who am I to deny you the sound of my golden pipes?”

“Grating,” he corrects. “I said you have a grating voice.”

“Ah, a great voice? That may be too much of a compliment.”

His good eye twitches. “Cease this unnecessary chatter and tell me what you want.”

“What I want? To spend some quality time with one of my wisest elders, of course.”

Doctor Qi snorts, knocking the side of my head with the handle of his cane. “Hurry up and come in. I have a long list of patients to see today; there’s a small outbreak of the pox in a village northeast of here, and I would prefer to head out as soon as possible.”

The inside of Doctor Qi’s shanty is a chaotic mess, every available surface covered in unfurled scrolls, vials of ointment, dried herbs, and other small items that I can’t even begin to name. It smells overwhelmingly of crushed gingerroot and dried mushroom, ingredients he no doubt bartered for down in the markets. In the corner, I spot the doctor’s wife quietly tidying, a large broom in her small hands. She gives me a polite bow, but she doesn’t seem to be in the mood to speak.

It’s hard for me not to notice their red threads leading in opposite directions from one another. Not a love match, then. Those are few and far between up here in the North—or anywhere, truly—since marriageable women are scarce, eligible bachelors are far too plentiful, and matches are decided between families with the strategic shifting of dowries top of mind. With the chances of a blissful marriage being so slim, I can understand why it’s preferable to at least aim for a tolerable one.

“Do you have the money?” Doctor Qi asks gruffly.

I reach into my outer robe and untie the pouches. They’re hefty, each weighing a good four or five pounds, packed full with the bronze coins and silver nuggets I’ve laboriously earned over these past few moons.

“It’s all there,” I assure him. “I triple-checked, just for you.”

The old man simply grunts and turns to pull a heavy trunk out from under his workbench. It’s sealed at three different points with thick iron locks, the keys located on a chain around his neck. He unlocks them one by one before finally pushing the lid back, exposing the small glass vial seated securely amid a bed of yellow straw. Doctor Qi picks the vial up, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, and holds it against the light streaming in through the window.

Sitting at the bottom of the glass are two reptilian scales, shimmering like starlight despite their deep greenish hue. I can’t explain the warmth that blooms in my chest as I stare at them, transfixed, nor the way my heart drums loudly in my ears. These trinkets, more beautiful than emeralds and jade, are supposed to be A-Ma’s medicine?

“Crush these into a fine powder,” Doctor Qi whispers conspiratorially. “One scale in the morning and the other at night. Mix it in with your mother’s breakfast and dinner. It should provide her relief for at least a month.”

“A month?” I echo, taking the vial from him. “You told me this would cure her for good.”

He shakes his head. “I said it could , but only if I secured a higher quantity. Dragon scales aren’t the easiest thing to come by. Count yourself lucky my contact in the South managed to sneak it past the border at all.”

My eyes go wide.

Damn it, he really is a quack.

“Dragons don’t exist,” I state.

“ Anymore ,” he counters. “They were once as real as the air we breathe. Our ancestors have been using what remains of them for centuries. Their claws forged into weapons, their teeth sawed into jewelry, fragments of their scales”—he gestures toward the vial I now hold in my possession—“used as the most potent of medicines.”

A laugh bubbles past my lips. “You can’t expect me to believe this, surely.”

“There are a great many things your simple mind will never understand, boy.”

“Well, that was uncalled-for.”

“Like I said, dragons and magic might now be a myth, but that was not always the case.” Doctor Qi harrumphs. “Do you have any idea the lengths I went through to procure these? If one of the emperor’s soldiers caught me smuggling them over the border, they would’ve had my head on the spot. You think I hobbled all the way down there and back for nothing?”

I pause. Is this what I sound like when I try to convince people of my abilities? Wild and brazen and downright impossible? I feel foolish for even considering it, but something stirs in my stomach.

Slowly, I rub my little finger, staring down blankly at my gray thread. It drags upon the ground: my Fated One is somewhere far, far away, perhaps forever beyond my reach. Perhaps Doctor Qi is correct. There are a great many things I don’t know, but there’s one thing I’m certain of: magic does exist.

Perhaps dragons did, too.

I pocket the vial and take a deep breath. I have little to lose at this point, desperation clawing at the nape of my neck. If I can help my mother feel even the slightest bit better, then this whole endeavor will be worth it.

“Do you offer receipts?” I joke lightly, doing my best to mask my unease. “In the unlikely case that I should require a refund.”

Doctor Qi waves his cane at me, but this time I manage to duck out of the way. “No refunds. Now, away with you!”

I leave with a light chuckle, a sliver of hope rising within me. What I wouldn’t give to see a true smile upon A-Ma’s face once more.

As I make my way home, I can’t help but feel like I’m being watched. There’s an almost palpable weight on my back, the heat of someone’s gaze trained on me as I move through the streets. When I throw a cautious glance over my shoulder, I see no one.

How curious, indeed.

I decide to cut through the markets on my way home, not to glimpse the day’s wares, but because it will shave a few minutes off my route. There’s no time to leisurely peruse the stalls and their lovely trinkets, and certainly no time for small talk with the merchants.

When I was a little boy, much to A-Ma’s chagrin, I would spend hours upon hours listening to their colorful tales, too enraptured by them to keep track of the day. Very little has changed since then—my imagination would only run wild if I stopped to listen. Yes, it is best that I keep going.

As I slip past the crowd, the heavy presence of armored soldiers doesn’t go unnoticed. Many of them appear fresh-faced and wide-eyed, likely recent recruits from the smaller towns farther north. There’s a good chance they’re only filtering through Jiaoshan on their way to the military base of Shéyǎn several hundred li south of here.

“Please, good sir. I must be on my way.”

It’s a young woman who speaks. Her silk robes are plainly colored, but still far too vibrant for her to be a mere peasant girl. Her short nails and dried-out hands are my next clue, while her lack of jewelry and hair ornaments is my third. A maid for one of the noble houses in the Pearl District, if I had the coin to wager.

“Please, sir, I have so very much to do,” she says timidly.

A gaggle of soldiers block her path forward, though the largest of the bunch stands at the front, keen on gaining her attention. He’s far more of a brute than his compatriots, sporting an ugly scar that bisects his right cheek. His armor is similar to theirs, except that it’s run-down and marred by all manner of dents and scratches. The badge on his shoulder signifies that he is a captain.

When I look down at their hands, I notice that his thread stretches off into the distance. Hers is a closed black loop.

“What’s your rush, little miss?” he asks, teasing. “Will you not join this honorable soldier for a cup of tea before I go off to war?”

“My madam has asked me to run a number of errands on her behalf. I really must away.”

“I’m sure you’ll have time to do them later.”

One of the captain’s compatriots pats him on the shoulder in the way one would dust off a prized trophy. “Do you have any idea who this is? Captain Tian was awarded his title by the emperor himself.”

The ruckus begins to draw the eyes of the market, though no one makes a move to help the poor girl. The bystanders are all too slack-jawed to move an inch. Curious whispers and hushed murmurs reach my ear, the mere mention of the emperor raising the fine hairs on my arms.

Emperor Róng—a name that, rather befittingly, translates to “glory.” No one dares speak it aloud, but not just because we commoners are unworthy of it gracing our tongues.

When I was a boy, A-Ma would tell me stories about the emperor when I couldn’t sleep. He was said to have brought fresh water to the people of the North, banished wild beasts to the shadows, and ruled the lands for thousands of years. Preposterous, of course, but it always made for a fantastic bedtime story. I was usually out cold by the time A-Ma got to the part where the emperor was said to have been crowned by the sun itself.

He is almost more myth than man, and perhaps that’s why I feel so unsettled by the soldier’s mention of him. No one has laid eyes upon the emperor in many years. I hear he has isolated himself in one of his many palaces scattered throughout the Northern Kingdom of Xuě. The rumor often floating around the teahouse is that he moves among these residences on a whim to keep his enemies at bay. The fact that Captain Tian has not only seen, but met our elusive emperor in person? It defies belief.

The young woman sighs, exasperated. Her attempt to sidestep the captain and his goons fails miserably. “ Sir , I really must—”

“Don’t be difficult. Come and keep me company.”

I can’t listen to this nonsense any longer. I may be in a hurry to return home, but I can’t let this come to pass. Swiftly, I sidle up to the young woman and place myself between her and the soldier.

“There you are,” I say, putting on a mildly frantic tone. “The madam has been asking after you. Do you really mean to keep her waiting?”

She blinks at me, stunned. “Who are—”

“Quickly, we must leave at once.”

I’m about to turn away when a hefty hand claps me on the scruff of my neck.

“Hey!” the captain snaps. “You got a problem?”

I set my jaw and regard him calmly. “No problem at all, my friend. Mèimei and I were just on our way.”

He snorts, nostrils flaring like those of a horse. “Why are you not in armor? Where’s your sword and shield, boy?”

“I have no need of them. I’ve not been conscripted.”

“Then you must enlist with this next draft. We’re to leave for the South by week’s end.”

“You misunderstand me, sir. I have an exemption.”

The captain’s lip twists up into a sneer. “What’s the meaning of this? It’s every man’s sacred duty to serve the emperor.”

“I understand, but—”

“Are you a cripple?” he asks dryly.

My fists ball up tight, my nails digging sharply into my palms. “No.”

“Infirm?”

“No.”

“A monk?” The captain takes a step forward, leaning into my space. His breath reeks abhorrently of garlic and sour milk. “Or, perhaps, are you a coward?”

Anger bubbles just below the surface of my skin. “I’m no monk,” I answer.

And then I promptly strike him across the face.

The captain stumbles back, clutching his jaw in surprise. He trips over his own boots, flailing as would a newborn goat, landing with a weighty thud.

“How dare—”

We run too quickly for him to finish his sentence, leaving the soldiers in our dust. The young woman and I don’t stop until we round the corner and are well out of view. She gives me a bow, her cheeks a light pink.

“Thank you, gēge . That man wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“No need to thank me,” I reply with an easy chuckle. “Best be on your way now.”

“Right, of course.”

With one last quick bow to one another, we go our separate ways.

Where did you sneak off to this morning?” my mother asks from the other room.

I’m in the kitchen preparing the leftover congee from last night, which I kept simmering above a low flame as we slept. It’s as tacky as it is tasteless, but at least it’s filling. I was unable to treat A-Ma to a helping of quail eggs today, as the purchase from Doctor Qi cleaned out my pockets. I won’t complain about having to resort to plain porridge, however, if it means my mother will finally get a reprieve from her constant coughing fits.

“Just to the markets,” I lie, keeping my tone light. The last thing I want is to worry her. “I thought I’d grab us a snapper for dinner, but I learned the fishermen won’t be bringing a fresh haul until tomorrow. Figured I should wait until then.”

“Good thinking,” she replies. “No sense in paying for week-old trout.” She sits at one of the teahouse’s many empty tables, a flat cushion beneath her as she pours us both a serving of tea. Her thinning black hair, oily and in need of a wash, is pulled up into a loose bun. I would take her to the public baths if only she had the energy to walk there and back.

I busy myself over the counter, my back facing toward her, as I quietly and quickly shake one of the scales out of the vial and into the base of a stone mortar. It’s an enchanting thing, truly more akin to a precious gem than a medicinal ingredient. It seems a pity to reduce such a thing to dust. Alas, I still pick up the stone pestle and grind away, holding my breath as small, brilliant sparks crackle inside the mortar.

Magic.

“Sai?” my mother calls. “Do you need a hand?”

I have no time to marvel at the glittering green dust. I hastily dump everything into her bowl of congee and mix it in thoroughly, topping both our meals off with a bit of green onion to disguise any discoloration. I join her at the table, kneeling on the bamboo floor as I set the food down before her.

“Enjoy,” I say. “Make sure to eat every bite.”

“You know I rarely have an appetite these days.” She picks up her spoon and takes a sip of her congee.

And then another, and another, and another, until—miracle of miracles!—she has polished off the entire bowl.

The effects are immediate.

Her sallow cheeks are awash with a pink, dewy complexion. The deep, dark circles beneath her eyes fade completely. Her hair now looks thick and shiny. My mother’s trembling hands finally still, her posture straightening as strength returns to her muscles and bones. In mere minutes, she looks twenty years younger.

“I thought I taught you that it’s rude to stare,” A-Ma teases lightly.

Picking my jaw up off the floor, I blink away my astonishment. “How are you feeling?”

“Famished. Is there enough for seconds?”

“You can have mine,” I say, willing my heart to remain calm as I slide my breakfast across the table.

Triumph rises in my chest. Could it be? Could it really, truly be?

My silent celebration does not last long, however, because the front doors to the teahouse slide violently open. The force is hard enough to rattle the rickety walls and knock the few framed calligraphy pieces we have askew.

A group of five heavily armored men step in—the very same ones I had the misfortune of running into not even an hour ago at the markets.

“You there,” the closest man snaps. I recognize him by the blooming purple bruise that my knuckles bestowed upon his jaw. Captain Tian. He points an accusatory finger at me, a vicious snarl exposing his crooked front teeth. “In the name of His Imperial Highness, I am placing you under arrest.”

My mother gawks, quickly moving to her feet. “Under arrest? On what charges?”

“Dodging the draft, and the assault of a ranking officer this very morning.”

“What in the nine suns are you talking about? My son would never do such things!”

“Stand down,” a second soldier declares, roughly pushing her away. His hand hovers over the hilt of his sword, his threat unspoken.

Before I have a chance to protest, three of the men surround me, forcing me to my knees as they bind my arms behind my back. One of them searches my pockets and pulls out the small glass vial that Doctor Qi gave me, the remaining scale clinking around at the bottom.

“Looks like we can add the purchase and possession of an illegal substance to your list of crimes,” the guard says with a dark look in his eyes. “We might get to see a hanging tonight.”

My mother cries frantically as they drag me off, swearing that this whole thing must be a misunderstanding. I consider fighting back, but I’m not a betting man, and a five-on-one fight isn’t the fairest of odds.

Tears streak A-Ma’s cheeks as I’m thrown into the back of a waiting wagon. It’s designed with tall metal bars to keep prisoners locked in. There are people out and about now, some of them gathering in wide-eyed shock and sharing scandalized whispers.

“Isn’t that the—”

“Probably swindled the wrong person.”

“To the ice fields with him, says I.”

My mother grasps desperately at me through the bars, tugging at my outer robe. “Sai! Sai, what’s going on?”

“Please, don’t worry, A-Ma,” I reply, keeping my voice as calm and gentle as possible despite my rabbit heart. “Go back inside where it’s warm. I’ll have this whole affair sorted and be back by evening.”

“But Sai—”

With a startling crack of a whip, the two horses up front lurch forward with disgruntled whinnies. The wagon’s wheels squeak in protest as it is dragged over the uneven dirt streets.

My gut tells me to try to escape, knowing something terrible is coming. But between my bound hands, the iron bars, and the sword-wielding soldiers now following on foot, I know that would be a guaranteed death sentence. The only thing I can do for now is let them take me.

And pray I can talk my way out of this mess.