Chapter 2 #2
I began to feel almost drowsy, as if my soul were unfastening itself from my body, eager to wander out. Just as my eyes started to droop, Mistress Ming finished her chant and looked up.
“Did you feel it?” she asked in the sudden quiet.
I blinked, dazed. “Feel what?”
Mistress Ming cast me an exasperated look. “For a ganshi priestess, you still have much to learn about the art of qi.”
“Why are you bringing up qi?” I countered, frustrated at having done something wrong without knowing what it was.
“Because this boy has it.”
I didn’t know what I’d expected the wisewoman to find, but qi certainly hadn’t been on my mind.
“Are you sure?” I glanced at the soldier. “A dead body can’t have any life force. It goes against the most rudimentary laws of nature.”
“You aren’t wrong,” said Mistress Ming, setting the incense in a metal bowl, “but the qi I felt is undeniable. Though faint, qi flows through this soldier’s meridians.
My guess is his spirit was clinging to his body when you found him.
And when you put that reanimation spell on his head, you sparked his qi, which reversed the fatality of his wound and brought him back to life. ”
“So he really isn’t dead?”
“For now, anyway.” Mistress Ming stared at the soldier’s blank face. “Give it another day, and he probably will be. At that time, even the borrowed energy from your reanimation talisman won’t be able to sustain his qi.”
I rubbed the tail of my braid, frowning.
How had a single job become so complicated?
I was a priestess of the dead, not a priestess of the nearly dead.
Could I still bring the soldier home like this?
How would his family react to his condition?
Would he even still be alive by the time we reached Hulin?
Based on Mistress Ming’s estimation, the answer to that last question was likely a no.
The wisewoman interrupted my thoughts and spoke while counting off her fingers. “Siying, at this point you have two choices: You can wait for the soldier’s qi to fade, letting him die. Or you can do the right thing by saving his life.”
“Save his life?” My finger caught in my plait. “Me?”
Mistress Ming crossed her arms. “You may be a priestess of death, but that doesn’t mean inflicting death upon others.”
“No, of course not,” I said, my surprise fading. “It’s just…”
Do I have time?
I thought of Baba, the entire reason I’d taken Official Yi’s job.
Since his own encounter with the fainting fever—the same outbreak that’d stolen Mama—his health had never fully recovered.
And recently, it’d only worsened. That was why I needed to complete this job, so I could afford better medical resources.
But what would happen if I didn’t get home as quickly as possible?
I’d already lost precious hours bringing the soldier here and talking to Mistress Ming.
It wasn’t that I didn’t pity him. Certainly, he deserved another chance at life after the horrible death he’d been dealt.
But I couldn’t save him if it meant sacrificing my father.
My father, who’d surely want me to help this soldier if he were here. Who’d be appalled if he knew I was even hesitating.
I taught you better, his familiar voice sounded in my mind. What’s the point of living a human life if you forget your humanity?
Tentatively, I asked Mistress Ming, “What would I have to do to save him?”
Something like relief sparked in the wisewoman’s eyes. “The solution’s simple enough: Replenish his qi.”
“How?”
Mistress Ming spread out her palms. “Qi is a force that exists in every part of the universe—the earth on which this house is built, the blood-marked talismans in your pocket, even the air that hovers around us.”
“I know all this,” I interrupted, impatient for her to get to the point.
She arched an eyebrow, and I mumbled a quick apology.
“As humans,” she continued, purposely slow to spite me, “we strengthen our qi with rest and good food. But this soldier will need more than that to survive. He needs pure human qi to match his own.”
I straightened at that. “You want me to give him my qi?”
“You could,” said Mistress Ming, “but I don’t recommend it. For one, you’d need to give him all your qi to help him live, meaning you’d die in his place. For another, you aren’t skilled enough in the art of qi manipulation to know how to give it, let alone give it correctly.”
“Then what?” I said, trying not to let my frustration show.
“Aside from living people, there’s another source of human qi—the spirits of those who no longer need it.”
I considered her words. “Do you mean ghosts?”
Mistress Ming nodded. “But not just any ghosts. Ghosts with powerful energy, powerful qi. I’d suggest you take the qi of evil spirits. Once purified, the spirits’ qi can be absorbed by the soldier through mere touch.”
“It sounds simple enough,” I mused, “but you’re essentially asking me to go on a wild-goose chase.”
“Not entirely wild,” the wisewoman said. “Do you think exorcists wander aimlessly to hunt down evil spirits? They’re either hired, as you are, or they meticulously seek out locations of evil.”
“And you know of these locations?”
Mistress Ming shrugged. “Humans love telling stories, especially ones of horror and scandal. There are no bounds to how far rumors can travel. For instance, even from my secluded hut, I hear what’s happening in the Sian government.”
I was struck by the sadness that flitted across Mistress Ming’s face as she spoke those last words.
I hadn’t thought the wisewoman cared that much about politics.
But then again, Mistress Ming was a citizen of Wen, the state warring for independence from the Sian kingdom.
Even someone as isolated as her wasn’t immune to the influence of the monarchy.
“Maybe you’re right, and it’s possible to locate these evil spirits,” I said, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. “But I’ll need a more specific plan to save this soldier. And if he’s alive, as you say, shouldn’t he be the one asking me to help him?”
“Shall we have him join us, then? Wake him with a reanimation talisman and discuss the situation face-to-face.”
Though she spoke lightly, I detected a hint of uneasiness in her tone.
I recalled her startled reaction upon seeing the soldier’s face.
It wasn’t as if Mistress Ming was frightened of the dead, like most people.
She’d seen plenty of my assignments before and clearly had no reservations about dragging a corpse into her house.
Her shock had been rooted in something else.
“Before I wake anybody,” I said, “I must ask: Why is saving this soldier so important to you?”
Mistress Ming stiffened. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”
“Then why not do it yourself?”
“I’m not trained in purification.”
“Is that truly the reason?” I pressed. “Dajie, do you know this soldier?”
Mistress Ming opened her mouth, then shut it. After a deliberative pause, she said huffily, “Yes, I do. But I’d rather you wake him first, so he can tell you himself.”
I didn’t like her vague response, but I decided to stop pushing for now. I began the reanimation ritual again, ringing my staff and chanting the proper incantation. As I did so, I pulled out a fresh Fu talisman and gently pressed it to the soldier’s forehead.
This time, the spell took effect immediately, as if the body remembered the talisman’s qi. As I drew my hand back, the soldier shot up into a sitting position, sucking in huge lungfuls of air.
“W-Where am I?” he stammered, pushing up the talisman to gape at the room in which he’d suddenly awoken. His gaze froze on my face. “I know you. You’re that girl from the battlefield. I helped you and then—then—”
Before I could respond, my attention slid past the soldier to the wisewoman behind him. He turned, following my gaze.
Mistress Ming still sat in a kneeling position, but now her forehead was pressed to the floor in reverence, her hands resting flat on either side. As I wondered why, she said in a clear voice, “Welcome to my humble home, Your Highness.”