The Last Dragon of the East

Chapter 46

46

T wenty years come and go.

I have settled on a small plot of land in the rolling hills north of Jiaoshan. It’s surrounded by towering trees and bisected by a winding river full of enough fish to keep me fed year-round. I built my home by hand, digging the foundation into the earth and diligently setting each one of the roof’s glazed tiles. My humble shack stands alone against the backdrop of trees, solitary and proud atop a steep hill.

I visit the markets every now and then to restock on supplies and to check up on the teahouse. Business has flourished. People come far and wide to taste A-Ma’s baked goods. They say she makes the best red-bean buns in all the land. The teahouse is self-sufficient at this point, a whole team of servers and cooks working throughout the day to fill the bellies of paying customers. As much as I enjoy visiting my mother, who is completely healthy thanks to a good dose of dragon scales all those years back, I find quiet pleasure in my solitude, too.

It’s just as well. I’d overheard the curious whispers and suspicious rumblings as I passed through town over the years. Comments about my miraculous lack of aging grew more and more frequent. I chalked it up to a healthy diet and the medicinal properties of tea, but my crafty lies and easy charm were eventually not enough to explain my lack of wrinkles, sunspots, or even graying strands of hair.

It seems that I am forever stuck at five and twenty—amortal.

I suppose dragons age slowly once we’ve reached maturity , Jyn once told me . To the human eye, it looks as though time has stopped altogether.

There’s peace to be found out here. I spend my days tending to my vegetable garden or feeding the gentle critters of the forest. Every now and then, a traveler will show up at my front door requesting an audience with the Thread-Seeker. I help them if I’m able, though my heart rarely has the will for such a journey. Where the coupling of a fated pair once brought me endless joy, it now serves as a reminder of what I have lost.

Though hopefully, soon, my darling one will return to me once again.

My mornings begin at the crack of dawn with the call of the rooster I keep in an outdoor pen. I feed the chickens before cutting up the next day’s firewood, and then promptly get to cooking a hearty, filling meal of steamed eggs, green onions, and fluffy white rice.

I spend the afternoons writing, not just to record the stories of my childhood, but also my grand adventures across the Five Kingdoms. I write letters, too, keeping in touch with Luobing every few moons or so, though I choose to keep my distance.

Jyn was far too young when I first found her. After the millennia of turmoil she endured, I wanted to give her the chance to live a normal life—to enjoy childhood, adolescence—before we find each other again. Was it selfish of me? I’d argue not. I’m sure she will come and find me once she’s ready. Until then, I will wait. As long as I know she’s happy, I can make peace with the distance I’ve placed between us.

One sweltering afternoon, I find myself in my garden watering the vegetables. I’m particularly proud of the succulent wolfberries that I’ve managed to cultivate this year. Once dried, they will make a nice addition to wintertime soups. I’m so engrossed in my garden work that the sudden tug I feel on my little finger takes me by surprise, along with the faint scent of jasmine sweeping in with the breeze.

“Excuse me?” comes a woman’s soft, sweet voice.

I turn to regard the stranger, except she’s no stranger at all. Before me stands a woman so radiant, so beautiful that I’m left without breath. The light green of her robes complements the soft porcelain of her skin, and her long black hair is tied back in a simple, clean braid that trails down the length of her back.

There are enough similarities to know exactly who she is, but there are also many differences that I take great pleasure in studying. From the new shape of her rosebud lips, to the gentle slope of her nose, to the curve of her chin and the height of her sharp cheekbones. She has freckles in this lifetime, a delicate splash of faded color across her forehead and the bridge of her nose.

“I apologize for disturbing you, good sir, but…” Jyn sucks in a sharp breath, picking at her fingernails. “Well, this might sound a bit ridiculous.”

I tilt my head to the side, basking in the light of her bashful smile. It’s a thrill when she finally musters up the courage to look me in the eye.

I can’t help but tease. “Is something wrong? Is there something on my face?”

“What? Oh, um, no.” She swallows hard, anxiously opening and closing her fists. “You’re my mother’s benefactor, are you not?”

“Benefactor?”

“Yes. For as long as I can remember, my family has received a generous sum of coin every moon without fail.” She reaches into the silk purse she has tied around her dainty wrist, pulling out a few pieces of neatly folded parchment. “I have your letters, though you never signed your name.”

“What makes you believe it’s me?”

“Because you have yet to deny it.”

I chuckle. “Is it coin you seek?”

“I’m no beggar, sir.”

“Then, pray tell, what brings you to my humble abode?”

She shifts her weight from foot to foot, clearly flustered. As elated as I am that she has arrived, I don’t wish to see her upset.

“You said it might sound ridiculous?” I prompt gently.

Jyn takes a deep breath. “Ever since I can remember, I have… I don’t know how to explain it, but I’m able to see red threads of fate.”

“Oh. Is that so?”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“No, my mooncake, I would never.”

“Don’t call me—” Jyn pauses, her expression melting into confusion. “Wait… Do I know you?”

“Can I interest you in a pot of tea?” I ask, gesturing to my outdoor kitchen. “I make an excellent brew of Longjing.”

She shakes her head. “No. I mean, yes, thank you, but… Please, what is your name?”

I take a step forward and search her eyes. I wonder how close to the surface the memories of her past life sit. “You know my name, Jyn. Think back. The answer is there.”

She watches me in thinly veiled suspicion but accepts my offer of tea regardless. I’m filled with a giddy excitement as she follows me through my humble garden, taking in the little knickknacks that I’ve collected over the years—everything with her in mind. Scrolls of poetry set out on the porch table, collected in the hopes of sharing them all with Jyn one day. Rare tea leaves that I bartered for so that we may taste them together. My garden is full of delicate blue wildflowers, the very same from our homeland, planted in thick, flourishing bundles so that she might feel more at ease.

I get to work in my small kitchen, bringing water to a boil so that the tea can steep, all the while observing Jyn out of the corner of my eye. She takes a seat at the low porch table and looks around in quiet awe. I can tell she has questions, and I’d be more than happy to indulge her were I not so worried about overwhelming her. Recalling all my past lives in one fell swoop shook me to the core. I’d much rather let Jyn in slowly. There’s no rush now, no threats lurking around the corner. We can finally take our time.

“I’m surprised you’re willing to listen,” she admits. “There are only a few people that I’ve told about the red threads, but they’ve all laughed at me.”

“That’s not very nice of them,” I reply, pouring hot water into a clay pot full of dried tea leaves. The satisfying glug of the steaming stream fills my ears, harmonizing with the gentle crackle and snap of the stove fire before me. “In my experience, people often laugh at things they don’t understand.”

Jyn arches a brow. “But you understand?”

“Oh, yes. I’m a bit of a know-it-all, in fact.” I sit down across from her and pour her a cup, delighted when she brings it to her lips and takes a thoughtful sip.

“I’ve come seeking answers,” she says after a moment.

“And I’m happy to oblige.”

“I don’t even know where to begin. You’ll think me mad. I think I’m mad.”

I pour myself a cup of tea, breathing in the herbal steam. “You’ll find no judgment from me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Jyn chews on the inside of her cheek, an adorable little quirk she’s picked up in this lifetime, it would seem. And yet the familiar furrow of her brows, as well as the way her shoulders tense with concentration, remain the same. She takes a deep breath and steels herself, her eyes peering deeply into mine.

“I think you’re my Fated One,” she says.

I grin so wide that my cheeks ache. “I know I am. Now, if you’ll drink your tea, I would share with you a story.”

It’s well into the evening by the time I’m finished. Jyn sits at the table overlooking the flowers, her delicate features painted in the soft orange sunset. Her eyes are closed, her fingers rubbing at her temples. She didn’t speak a word during or even after I recounted our tale.

“I don’t understand,” she says eventually. “I don’t remember anything at all.”

“Give it time,” I reply patiently. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“Are you sure you’re not lying?”

“No, sunshine. This is far too important for me to lie.”

Jyn shifts in her seat, frustration bubbling off the surface of her skin. It’s fascinating how much clearer her feelings are to me over our connection. Where before they were muffled, like listening to her speak from another room, now all is unobstructed and clear. I can sense her blazing curiosity, can feel the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. I’m even able to partake in the headache pulsing behind her eyes as she racks her mind for memories she can’t seem to summon.

“I’m sorry,” she says after a long while. “Everything you’ve said feels so familiar. Almost like a dream… but nothing’s coming to me.”

I was scared of forgetting you.

I push away a great disappointment in favor of hope. Of course I hoped her memories would sit closer to the surface, since her soul hasn’t endured the cycle of rebirth as many times as mine has. But even if Jyn never remembers everything, what matters is that she’s here . Whatever the future may have in store for us, I’m confident that we’ll figure it out together. Nothing but possibility stands before us.

“There’s no need to fret,” I say, rising from my seat at the table. “We have plenty of time to get to know each other again. Are you staying somewhere in the city?”

Jyn nods, the rims of her eyes red and puffy. I so hate to see her upset. “I have a room at the inn.”

“It’s getting late. Allow me to see you back.”

She takes my hand when I offer it, her skin soft against my rough palm. My heart skips a beat when I notice the faint blush of her cheeks. “Thank you, that’s very kind.”

A thought suddenly pops into my head. “Before we go, I have something for you. A gift.”

Jyn gives me a quizzical look. “But how did you know I was coming?”

Holding up my hand to show off our taut red thread, I reply, “I had a feeling.”

I momentarily leave her for the entrance of my home, stepping through the doorway to rifle through the cabinets next to my writing desk. After a bit of shuffling, I find a small box stashed away in the very back. The box itself is brown and plain, easily overlooked. It’s the contents within that are of immeasurable value. I return to Jyn and place the box delicately in the cup of her hands.

“What is it?” she asks, prying the lid open to reveal something wrapped in soft green silk.

“Something that was once yours,” I explain. “I wanted to keep it safe for you.”

Jyn carefully peels away the layers of silk to reveal a silver hairpin, the one I gifted her all those lifetimes ago. She stares at the intricate piece for so long I fear her mind has wandered too far. She’s in a world entirely her own. I silently pray that it will help jog her memories. Maybe a trinket, something to hold, will help spark something.

It doesn’t.

“Thank you,” she says, quickly moving to secure it in her hair. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it. Now, give me your hand.”

“Why?”

“So that you can climb onto my back.”

“Why?” she asks suspiciously, arching a brow in true Jyn fashion. “I thought you said you’d see me back to the city.”

“I did, but I never said anything about walking.”

I step out into the garden and transform, my body curling around the planters, the chicken coop, my shack. I can sense Jyn’s fascination, feel her thrill over our thread, without the fear I would’ve expected from anyone else. Holding my head up high with pride, I crouch so that she can climb up.

“Wow,” she breathes, throwing a leg over. She’s mindful of my mane, leaning forward to hold on tight. “Are you sure this is safe—”

I launch into the air. At first, her scream is one of pure terror, but it quickly morphs into a delighted burst of laughter. We soar ever higher, up above the forest and the clouds, close enough to touch the silver moon. Her glee is unfettered, her elation unmatched. It brings me endless joy to feel her breathless exhilaration.

Jyn looks down upon the sleepy world below us, and I sense something almost bittersweet thrumming over our connection. A memory stirs. The locks in her mind slowly come undone. I turn my head to look at her. Recognition, just out of reach, flashes across her face as her mouth falls open. All she has to do is concentrate and grasp for it.

“Sai?” she whispers.

Suddenly, I feel her slip off my back. Jyn plummets from the sky, but I sense no panic. She stretches her arms out toward me, green scales forming along her arms. Her eyes turn a brilliant green and then—

She shifts, her magic unlocking from within as she transforms. I chase after her, our bodies entwining as we fly. Tears well in her eyes as she presses her head to mine. We are the red and green dragons of old, reunited at long last. Fated Ones, destined to find each other through countless lifetimes.

Sai.

Hello, my love.