Chapter Five
The train to Yaan dropped them off mid-morning, so Leander got them crispy pancakes cooked with scallions and spicy sauce wrapped around a chicken sausage. “We’ll be walking for quite a while today,” he said before buying two more pancakes without the meat for later in the day.
“How long?”
“I’m not sure,” Leander said.
Shanlin turned to him, dark eyes studying him. “You don’t know a lot of things.”
“A wise man never offers answers when he’s not sure. That goes along with not questioning your elders,” Leander said.
“Shi, ba,” Shanlin said. Neither word sounded like what they were supposed to be, but Leander accepted the spirit of the words.
“Good boy,” he said.
“I’m not a dog.”
“No, because I would not have a dog.”
“Dogs are wonderful. Mom said I could get a dog once I was old enough to take care of it all the time instead of forgetting to feed it.”
“Dogs are smelly creatures.”
“People are smelly creatures,” Shanlin shot back, and Leander smiled despite himself.
“I don’t like people, either.”
“I’m shocked.” Shanlin’s sarcastic side was coming out now. At least he had waited until they were far enough away from tourist areas to draw attention to himself.
“When others can see us, you need to remain respectful,” Leander reminded him.
“When we’re around people, I won’t give you many compliments at all, so you won’t have to worry about the fact I’m awkward with praise.
People are expected to be modest and complimenting a child will be seen as spoiling them. ”
Shanlin sighed as if this whole ordeal was painful.
It probably was. He was still mourning his mother and now Leander had dragged him away from everything he knew.
They didn’t even have phones he could use to keep up with American television or news, not that ten-year-olds watched the news.
Leander was an obsessive news-watcher, always waiting for evidence things were about to turn worse for his people, but he’d given it up.
First, he wasn’t in America to care if it slid straight into Hell and second, he didn’t want to make it easier for anyone to track him.
Leander found the right road and led them toward the mountains.
So far, his memory of the directions had been accurate, so now Leander had to hope Heng’s family gave them at least some help settling in.
Heng had insisted magical people in the small villages were far more open to magical strangers because the magic they shared helped to overcome the differences between them culturally.
Refusing to think about all the ways this could go wrong, Leander encouraged Shanlin to walk in front where he could watch the boy and not accidentally outpace his short legs.
They’d been walking for a couple of miles before Shanlin’s occasional complaint turned into a litany of reasons why walking was stupid and China was stupid and Leander was stupid.
The complaints only stopped when an electric vehicle pulled up in front of them with a characteristic whine.
Leander stepped in front of Shanlin, his fists clenched and his magic reaching for all the local plants. He found a couple of poisons, and he prepared to pull the poison to him at a moment’s notice, but then a familiar person got out of the car.
“Leander?”
“Heng?” He was a little older with a few stray gray hairs sprinkled in his long black hair, but his face had the same childlike roundness.
He wore his hair pulled back in a gold hair clip, or hair crown as he had always insisted it was called.
When they’d known each other years ago, he would wear formal and flowing tops he called hanfu style, but he’d paired them with jeans and tennis shoes.
Now he was dressed like he had just fallen out of one of the historical dramas popular on television.
“Ai ya! It is you!” He slammed his door and rushed forward to grab Leander by the shoulders. Now Leander remembered why Heng had always annoyed him. Being from a formal country, the man should not be so quick to grab others, but he was. “You look so old!”
Shanlin giggled, but Leander ignored him.
“You look exactly the same, like a schoolboy young enough to call everyone uncle,” Leander said. “But at least your English is better.”
“You wound!” Heng clutched his chest. “And who is this? You have a son!” He slapped Leander on the arm hard enough to make him stumble.
“Nie Heng, this is Boon Shanlin. Shanlin, this is Nie Heng, the man who told me about the village we’re going to.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Nie.” Shanlin did a passable bow, but he was still holding his hands wrong.
“Call me Uncle Heng. I’ve known your father too long to call me mister.”
Shanlin smiled. “Uncle Heng.”
Heng ruffled his hair. “Good boy. Why don’t you get into the car while I talk to your ba?”
Shanlin looked at Leander, and he nodded.
No doubt the boy would need a lot of reassurance in the next year or so as he adjusted to China, and Leander was better with plants than people.
No, that wasn’t accurate. He was amazing with plants, and he was incompetent with people to the point he didn’t have a single personal number in his cell phone.
No friends. No family. He must have lost his mind to think he could be a father.
However, for now Shanlin was listening, which was better than he had expected.
He headed to the car and climbed in the back.
Heng studied Leander. “I never thought I would see you again.”
“If coming here puts you in a difficult position, we can leave once I get my bearings.” It had been almost a decade since Heng made his offer, and Heng didn’t owe him anything.
Heng frowned. “Friend Lian,” he said, using the Chinese name Leander had claimed for his own, “I would never have issued an invitation if I didn’t want you to move here. I would hope to never offend an honorable friend, but your country is...”
“A flaming pile of horse dung?” Leander finished for him. “It is, but I grew used to the smell. The problem is Tecca was killed, and I think our boss meant to kill Shanlin.”
“Do you think your son is in danger or do you know he is?”
Leander considered his options. The more truth he shared, the more people could use it against them.
He had no illusions that everyone in the town would welcome them.
It would only take one person searching for their enemies to pierce the veil of secrecy Leander had cast by coming here.
But this was Heng, and without his help, Leander wouldn’t know how to navigate the difficult waters in this new place.
Leander barely understood the people he’d grown up with, so he had no hope of surviving China without help.
“Our boss wants Shanlin dead. I wonder if he saw something the night his mother died, but he just says there was a monster.”
Heng grimaced. “How horrible for a child to see such a thing.”
“I had to get him somewhere safe.”
“Shi, shi, I agree.” Heng looked at the car where Shanlin waited.
“But you have to make a decision. Visiting us is different from living here. The invitation is for either, but you must decide now how you want to introduce yourself to the rest of the sect.” It was such a strange sight—Heng in his historical clothing flowing with every movement and long hair against the modern car.
Leander knew the magical enclaves were old-fashioned, but he’d thought they’d drink tea out of too-small cups, or they wouldn’t have cell phones.
The clothing was a surprise. Hell, knowing the enclaves were old-fashioned, the car was, too.
“I want to live here,” Leander said slowly.
“But you do not know if you can?” Heng asked. He had always been annoyingly insightful.
“I need Shanlin to be safe. I can get used to fermented tofu if I have to.”
Heng snorted. “I doubt that. Luckily, not everyone likes such a wonderful delicacy, which is fine because it means there is more for the rest of us. However, I know you can find peace here if you allow yourself.”
“Unlike last time?” Leander asked.
“Your heart was not in China last time. Now, I think it is.” He glanced at the car again and raised his eyebrows.
If Shanlin were his son, Leander would agree.
But he wasn’t. Leander felt an obligation to protect him, and China was the only place he knew where the boy could grow up without having to watch over his shoulder for Druwolf’s enforcers.
But was obligation enough? Leander didn’t know, but he had to try.
He smiled at Heng. “Shi,” he agreed.
Heng slapped him on the shoulder. “It is good.”
“I thought Chinese didn’t touch people they didn’t have relationships with,” Leander said dryly.
“You are my qidi. Why would I restrain myself around you?”
“What is a qidi?”
“You are my adopted little brother, the one I chose. And I am your qixiong, your adopted older brother.” He touched the small of Leander’s back, and the touch sent a shiver up Leander’s spine.
His body remembered that touch, even if he had tried hard to forget it.
Back then, he had felt as if sharing Heng’s bed had been a betrayal of his feelings for Finn.
After all, Finn had betrayed him by ending their relationship, but Leander had seen himself as the loyal one, the stately oak in the midst of Finn’s emotional storms. Sleeping with Heng hadn’t fit into his view of himself.
But a simple touch awakened feelings Leander couldn’t handle—not now.
“I don’t remember the adoption ceremony.”
Heng smiled. “You do not remember many things, qidi.” He guided Leander to the car, escorting him to the passenger side before he walked around. He had to take a second to gather up his robes before he could climb in the driver’s seat, embroidered silk spilling over the center console.
“This is an awesome car.”
“You are too polite, young one.” Heng did a tight U-turn and with the car’s high-pitched hum, accelerated toward the mountains.