Chapter 8
The apothecary’s shop was bigger than the one we had in Baimu, which allowed the establishment to host a larger clientele. I convinced Ren to wait outside, where a street musician had drawn the interest of a small crowd, and quickly stepped through the apothecary’s open doors.
The shop’s dry, woody musk struck my nose first. Tall wooden cabinets covered two of the walls, one behind the front counter and the other perpendicular to it.
The third wall, not marked by latticed windows, featured floor-to-ceiling shelves, which bore neat rows of glass and clay jars sealed with red paper, their smooth surfaces illuminated by the sunlight trickling in.
While waiting for the apothecary to finish with another customer, I browsed shelves filled with containers of dried fruits and reptiles, various roots, and jewel-bright powders. I stopped by a row of ginseng soaking in wine, their twisted roots crossed like human legs.
Ginseng was a rare plant to find in Sian, and it was sold for much higher prices there. Beyond its scarcity, however, its primary value lay in its ability to reinforce qi. As a child, my father had soothed all my hurts—both seen and unseen—with a bright, warm cup of ginseng tea.
I gazed past the wine-filled jars, which were much too heavy to carry, and noticed a basket of dry ginseng lying in a haphazard pile.
The roots and hairs were somewhat tangled, but the plants looked as if they’d been freshly picked from the mountain.
The price was pleasingly low as well. It’d be perfect for supplementing Ren’s qi during our travels.
I gathered a handful, enough for some to be resold in Sian, and brought it to the now-available front counter.
“Do you have any white peony root?” I asked as the apothecary bound the ginseng in cloth. “And dried jujubes?”
“Yes, miss. Let me find them for you,” he said, turning to the cabinets behind him. Though the medicines’ names were carved into the lower corner of each drawer, I knew it’d take time for the shopkeeper to find the right ones. There must’ve been at least a hundred drawers spread between both walls.
As I waited, a breeze struck the metal chimes hanging outside the business’s open door, as if announcing the footsteps crossing the threshold. I glanced toward the sound. My fingers froze mid-tap over the countertop.
The newcomer was a young woman dressed in an olive tunic and thigh-length vest. Beneath the layers of cotton, she wore loose khaki trousers tucked into practical, high boots.
Despite her simple dress, she walked precisely, purposefully, her dark hair pulled into a sleek ponytail and falling whiplike down her back.
A sheathed sword hung at her side, promising blood.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the woman was a soldier off duty. But based on the Lius’ story about Chunhua, the Wen military, like Sian’s, only enlisted men.
As I glanced between the sword and the woman’s unsmiling face, I was startled to feel a sense of familiarity. Where had I seen her before?
The woman returned my stare, her brows knitting together. “You’re that priestess from Ninghe County.”
At the sound of her voice, recognition flooded through me. My intuition wasn’t wrong. The woman was indeed a soldier, or at least had been dressed like one the first time we met. Perhaps she was an exception to the rule.
I bowed my head in respect, hiding my discomfort. Of all people, I had to run into an officer of the Wen militia. The gods were unusually rude today.
“Were you able to locate your corpse in time?” the woman asked, stopping a respectable distance away. She couldn’t have been more than five years older than me, her left cheekbone marked by a faint scar.
“Yes,” I said, resisting the urge to turn and check on the apothecary. “I must thank you for your warning.”
The woman nodded. “Did you already deliver him to his family?”
“Not yet.”
“Is he your only assignment, or are there others?”
“He is the only one at the moment.”
“Where are you bringing him?”
I studied the soldier, not bothering to hide my suspicion. “Why the curiosity in a ganshi priestess’s job? Most people like to know as little as possible about death’s business.”
“I’m not most people.” Then, matter-of-factly, she added, “I’m looking for a fugitive, one who was reported to have headed toward Ninghe County. Since we crossed paths there, I wondered if you’d come across anyone unusual around that time. Or if any of your corpses aren’t corpses at all.”
My eyebrow twitched. “Are you accusing me of unlawful activity?”
“I’m merely asking a question.”
“I know nothing of any fugitive,” I said, tone level. “I just guide the dead.”
“May I ask whom you came to guide?”
I shrugged. “A common soldier. Certainly no one of import to you.”
“I’d like to determine that myself. May I see this soldier?”
“I don’t think—”
Just then the apothecary returned, saving me from having to finish.
“That’ll be fifteen silvers, miss,” he informed me while bundling my purchases together in a linen cloth. As I brought out my purse, he added, “My daughter makes her own perfumes. Would you like to purchase one?”
Normally, I would’ve said no, thinking it a waste of money. But at that moment, I was eager to avoid my exchange with the soldier. Besides, I could give the perfume to my sister as a gift. Lilan loved pretty things.
“How much?” I asked.
“Ten silvers.”
“Very well,” I said, ignoring the soldier’s presence. “Just pack it with my other items.”
“Of course, miss. Thank you for your patronage.”
I finished paying and gestured vaguely at the soldier. “I’m sorry for holding up your other customers. Have a good day.”
The soldier opened her mouth but was interrupted by the apothecary’s friendly “Welcome! How may I help you, miss?”
Taking advantage of her distraction, I hurried to the exit with the pack of medicine hugged to my chest.
The moment I stepped outside, my eyes sought Ren’s hooded figure. To my relief, he remained in the street musician’s audience, enthralled by the performer plucking at his guzheng’s strings. Ren didn’t notice me until I tugged on his sleeve and whispered, “We must leave now.”
“The song’s almost over,” he said, his previous anger forgotten. “Listen, mistress. It’s important to enjoy a bit of music every once in a while. Recharge your soul and savor a moment of peace.”
“Would you like to be arrested in peace?” I hissed. “Then, by all means, let’s wait for the song to end.”
He turned. “Pardon?”
I shoved the medicine into his arms and placed my hand against his back.
Then I pushed him away from the crowd and down the lane, building distance between us and the apothecary.
Not wanting to look any more suspect than I already felt, I kept my eyes forward as I led us toward an intersecting street, trying to ignore the sensation of being watched.
Only after we had turned several corners and neared the village gate did I slow down.
“Tired at last?” Ren said, still cradling the linen package. “Now will you tell me why you look so nervous?”
“There’s a Wen soldier snooping around,” I said, voice low. “I have a feeling they’re looking for you.”
His face blanched. “Do you think it has to do with my death?”
“It’s not impossible.” I stared past the gate at the open road before us. “Which is why we must hurry to our next destination. No more delays. The sooner we replenish your qi, the better.”
With Wen soldiers roaming about, it was even more vital for us to travel in the darkness of night.
After walking a fair distance from Xiuxi, we returned to the forest to wait for the remaining daylight to pass.
We made camp beneath a towering cathaya tree, its thick, prickly canopy shading us from the sun.
While Ren curled into his cloak and slept, I brought out my box of talismans and pulled from it a thick stack of blank yellow sheets. Then I uncorked my bottle of chicken blood, the sickly-sweet iron stench wafting out.
Ignoring the odor, I got to work dipping my brush in the blood and sweeping purification spells over each slip. I’d used more of the purification talismans than expected when facing Liu Chunhua. It’d be wise to prepare more before meeting another evil spirit.
At first I wrote slowly, carefully, hearing Baba’s guiding voice in my head as I ensured the accuracy of each stroke.
Soon my hand fell into a steady rhythm, and I was able to paint the characters without thinking too much.
In fact, I tried not to think at all—the activity reminded me of the times I’d prepared talismans with my father, sitting side by side in companionable silence.
Hopefully he was keeping his promise to wait.
There’s no use in worrying now, Siying. Just finish the task in front of you.
After nearly an hour, I rolled back my shoulders and examined the finished talismans laid out in rows to dry. I nodded, satisfied, then turned to the peach staff lying on the ground beside me. It’d been a while since I last cleaned it.
Dampening a silk cloth with water from my gourd, I rubbed along the bends and grooves of the staff.
The surface appeared rather worn; I’d have to sand and refinish it when I returned home.
At the top of the staff, just below the bells, was a single character engraved in the marbled pale-brown wood: Kang.
I smiled, imagining my father’s hand hovering over the staff as he neatly carved each stroke.
“I see you’re the type who finds more joy in work than in people.”
My head snapped up. Ren lay on his side with his talisman pressed back, head propped on his fist, watching me with an amused smirk. I could imagine the palace women swooning in the face of such relaxed confidence.
Refusing to be like them, I narrowed my eyes. “When did you wake?”
“Just now, when your bells rang.”
I’d been so absorbed in my task, I hadn’t noticed the chimes.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You should try to sleep some more. It’s still early.”