Chapter 7
I dreamed that I was on a bridge with thick waves of fog curling around the stone.
The bridge’s white-gray bricks ran like scales upon a serpent’s back, slithering far into the mist. Its base plunged into the valley below, promising an endless fall.
The air was thin and barely chilled, as if I stood on the highest peak of Mount Long.
But I hardly noticed. Instead, my eyes latched on to a figure leaning against the crenellated parapet ahead of me.
“Baba?” I whispered.
My father turned at my voice and smiled. “Daughter.”
He was dressed in a simple gray tunic and jacket over matching trousers. A ribbon bound his peppered hair up into a neat bun, doubly secured by a wooden pin. His moon-pale face belied the warmth in his brown eyes, which settled on me with all the calmness of a star-specked sky.
“Baba!” I raced forward and flung my arms around his slender frame, breathing in his familiar scent—paper and incense and earth. “I’ve missed you so.”
“As I have you,” he replied, hand resting on my head. “I wish you hadn’t left.”
“I’ll be home soon,” I promised, content to be wrapped forever in his arms. My thoughts briefly flashed to Liu Chunhua and her parents, and I realized how that encounter had deepened my yearning for home, for family.
I continued, “Forgive me for leaving, but I had no choice. You must understand, Baba. Everything I do is for you. For our family.”
“Daughter…”
The hesitance in his tone prompted me to pull away so that I could see his face. It was then that I noticed the black veins peeking out from his crossed collar and crawling up the length of his neck, nearly brushing his jawline.
“What is that?” I hissed, reaching for the creeping lines before his hand stopped mine. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Everyone who walks this bridge bears the same mark.”
I leaned back to examine the bridge with new eyes. If I squinted, I could detect shadowy shapes walking distantly in the fog. “What is this place?”
“The path to the next world.”
I stared at him in alarm. “Why are you here? This is just a dream, isn’t it? You shouldn’t be here, Baba!”
“Like you, I haven’t yet crossed the bridge,” he said, rubbing his neck absentmindedly while staring across at the other side.
I grabbed both his hands, feeling suddenly as if I were drowning, fighting to break through the water’s surface. “You mustn’t cross this bridge, Baba. I won’t let you.”
He looked at me, his mouth curving into a soft smile. “Dearest daughter. You’ve always been so brave, so stubborn. But there are some things even your stubbornness can’t overcome.”
“My stubbornness is no normal thing,” I said seriously.
He touched my cheek, his tone equally gentle. “Every soul is precious, my dear, but not one is more special than another.”
I frowned, uncertain if he was referring to me or himself. Regardless, I wasn’t convinced. If I believed hard enough, I could save Baba’s life. Like Ren when he chose to live.
“Do not cross this bridge,” I said, sensing my consciousness tugging me back to the waking world. “Wait for me, Baba. I’m coming home soon, I swear it.”
He gave me a tired smile and, finally, a nod. Then, just before the dream faded, he opened his mouth, saying, “Siying, I—”
My eyes flew open, and rather than an ashen bridge, I stared up into a dense canopy of vibrant green trees.
A thin film of sweat clung to my skin, the late-morning chill conjuring shivers up my arms. I blinked dew from my lashes and sat up, brushing aside a fern near my head.
Beside me, Ren slept soundly. It couldn’t have been more than five hours since we’d made camp for the day, but my mind was far too alert for sleep.
I pulled my coat closer to my throat, thinking of my dream and my father’s last words. I’d woken before he could finish what he was saying, but I felt certain of his intent: I’m running out of time. I knew it in my bones, in the dark veins tracing his neck, death’s fingers laying claim to its prey.
I needed to hurry.
But first I needed provisions. It’d been two days since we left Fuzhou, and we were short on food. I also needed ointment for my injuries, which still stung when I moved too sharply.
I peeled my body off the forest floor and stretched. As I skirted the remains of our campfire, Ren’s voice broke through the morning quiet. “Where are you going?”
My footsteps stilled, and I turned to see him sitting up.
“Did I wake you?” I asked.
“No, I’ve been awake awhile.”
The way he said it, as if he wished otherwise, gave me pause.
“Nightmare?”
He shook his head. “A memory, more like.”
My curiosity stirred. “What kind of memory?”
He rested his arms on his knees. “What happened in Fuzhou made me dream of the day my captain received a message to send our company to Ninghe County. We were in a forest much like the one in Fuzhou, keeping a low profile, when we were told to combine with another platoon. That’s why we ended up in that field. ”
“But then you were ambushed,” I said.
“Right.” He bit the inside of his lip. “But the thing is we never met up with the platoon at the meeting spot. No one was there when we arrived. And by the time we thought about turning back, the Wen army was upon us. At the time, I thought we’d just mistaken the location.
But now I wonder if the platoon ever existed. ”
“Do you think the messenger who spoke to your captain was a spy?”
“It’s possible.” Ren looked at me. “You said that Liu Chunhua’s suicide was actually a murder. What if the ambush in Ninghe County was part of a similar plot to kill my captain or my company or—”
“You,” I finished for him. “I don’t know your captain or the other members of your company, but I do know you’re the second prince of Sian. I’m sure there are plenty of people who’d want you dead. Which means someone knows who you really are. Maybe even the person who killed your mother?”
Ren’s grim nod confirmed he suspected the same. “That’s certainly a possibility. Now it’s just a matter of whether they know I’m still alive.”
“It’s hard to tell,” I said. “Your entire company fell in that ambush, so maybe they assumed you died along with everyone else. But if they didn’t find your body among the dead, they might believe otherwise. Either way, we need to get you out of Wen as soon as possible.”
“But I have to gather more qi.”
“I know.” I looked up at the faint sunlight filtering through the leaves. “It’s too early to travel right now. And we need food. You stay here, and I’ll go purchase supplies from the village nearby.”
“I’ll come with you,” he said, already pushing to his feet. He moved stiffly, still sore from his encounter with Chunhua, but at least he no longer needed my commands to help him walk.
“Did you not hear me?” I gestured toward the sky. “It’s broad daylight, and you’re wearing a Fu talisman. The villagers are bound to notice.”
“I can hide it,” he said, flipping the reanimation talisman backward onto his head. Then he swept the hood of his cloak over his forehead, simultaneously holding down the talisman and shadowing his eyes. “See?”
“And what if people recognize you?”
“They won’t,” he said, confident. “Before I enlisted, I’d never stepped foot outside the palace. The only person in Wen who’d know me is Lady Ming.”
I sighed. “It’s still too risky. Besides, what if you—”
“Bring misfortune to the villagers?” he guessed, smiling wryly. “I’m not actually a corpse, Mistress Kang. What bad luck can I possibly give off?”
I felt plenty cursed already.
Ren pressed, “Please let me come. I’d be so bored here. And what if I’m attacked by angry ghosts again? Or a tiger?”
“What kind of soldier are you if you can’t even defend yourself?”
“The kind that falls in his first battle,” he said shamelessly. “Besides, I’m a prince. One, I might add, whom you need alive.”
I hated that he knew my weakness. And that he was now staring at me with such pleading eyes. Grabbing my sack, I said, “Fine. But you must stay silent and keep your head low while we’re in the village.”
Looking smug, he tightened the cloak around his throat and matched his pace with mine. We made our way through the forest’s underbrush until we hit the main path. From there, it was a half-mile walk to the village.
The arching gate over the village’s main road bore the settlement’s name carved into hand-painted wood: Xiuxi. The red and green paint was faded, chipped in some places, but the familiar construction was comforting. As were the people milling about, busying themselves with their morning routines.
Though I wasn’t fond of social interaction, I didn’t mind blending into a crowd dense as this one.
I felt contentedly invisible instead of overwhelmed, another drop of blood in a warmly beating heart.
All around me, mothers carried babes in bamboo baskets on their backs, some leading lines of children like baby ducks behind them.
Vendors hawked their wares down the streets, their friendly shouts mingling with the din of conversation and oil sizzling in large black woks.
I followed the flow of the crowd with my peach staff in hand, the iron bells tinkling softly against each other.
My teal priestess’s robes, though wrinkled and scuffed from travel, drew the curiosity of several passersby, who dipped their heads in respect as I walked past. But their attention was fleeting, soon distracted again by the activity around them.
Above the chaos, brightly painted houses climbed toward the sky, gabled units stacked one on top of another with sun-bleached roofs.
Drying laundry hung from open windows, and small gray finches perched along the worn, upturned eaves.
Some dared to swoop down at the glimpse of a crumb fallen from careless fingers.
My own stomach grumbled as I was bombarded by the smells of steaming sweet bread, barbecued pork, and seared vegetables. Xiuxi was a popular rest stop for travelers, and the locals knew how to entice hungry customers.