Chapter 8 #2
Instead of obeying, he nodded at the staff and asked, “What’s so special about that weapon?”
“It isn’t a weapon, not intentionally. Peach and iron ward off evil. The bells also guide the dead.”
“I know that.” He lifted his brows. “That isn’t what I meant. What’s so special about it to you? I don’t think you’d ever look at a puppy with such tenderness.”
“I’m allergic to dogs,” I said.
“Again, not my question.”
I sighed, rubbing my thumb over my family name. “If you must know, this staff belonged to my father. It was his gift to me when I first became a priestess.”
“Did he craft it himself?”
“Yes.” I squeezed the shaft, the solid wood anchoring me. “My father has always preferred working with his hands. Gardening, calligraphy, woodwork—he says he finds it fulfilling.”
Ren pursed his lips, thoughtful. “Your father was a priest too, yes? How’d he have time to do all that alongside his ganshi work?”
I stared at the tree across from me, eyes traveling absentmindedly over its puckered bark. “He just did. My father is a master balancer, and it isn’t out of luck. He told me once that everything he does is braided into one common thread—family.”
Repeating my father’s words out loud induced a warm rush of memories: me crouching in the garden as Baba taught me the shapes, colors, and names of various herbs.
Watching him mourn with the surviving families of the dead, his grief as raw as if their loss were his own.
Fuming when my calligraphy strokes weren’t quite right and my father teasing me until I cracked and smiled too.
“Family,” Ren echoed softly. “Your father sounds like an admirable man.”
“He is.” A wave of homesickness crashed into me. I cleared my throat and said lightly, “What’s your father like when he isn’t busy playing king?”
Ren made a face but didn’t comment on my cheek. “He’s a serious man, all business. He’s not much for chitchat. He acts before he speaks, and when he does speak, every word has a purpose. He especially likes reciting historical facts and policies when I see him, despite my utter lack of interest.”
I eyed him critically. “So you really don’t want any part in governing?”
He shrugged. “Have you always wanted to be a ganshi priestess?”
“Of course,” I said proudly. “As the eldest, it’s my duty to take on my father’s work.”
“Duty, eh?” Ren flipped onto his back and stared up at the leaves knit high above, tiny shards of sunlight falling onto his face. “You sound like my brother.”
“Prince Liqin? I’m not sure if I should feel insulted.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. It was boyish—and somewhat adorable.
“You know,” he said, “another prince would have your head for the way you speak of the royal family. You’re fortunate to be in the company of a lazybones second son.”
I scoffed. “After what the royal family has done to mine, you’ll forgive my sharpness.”
“And what have we done?” At my silence, he tilted his face toward me. “Come now, you’ve been honest all this time. Tell me.”
I cast him a withering look, daring him to condemn me for what I said next.
“Your father, the king, did nothing for his most vulnerable citizens when the fainting fever struck. He shut himself safe in his palace and sent no aid, no protection, to his people, and then he had the audacity to tax us harder when our resources suffered.”
Ren winced. “So my father has made mistakes. But why resent my brother?”
I snorted. “The first prince was just as shameless. Despite surviving the fainting fever himself, he never thought to have his physicians share their expertise, leaving the small-town doctors and their patients to fend for themselves. Because of that, my mother died. And now my father—”
I inhaled sharply, my composure fracturing. Unable to look at Ren, I stared down at my hands gripping the peach staff tight enough to hurt.
After a long pause, Ren said quietly, “I’m sorry for your suffering, Mistress Kang. I had no idea, truly. But I assure you I’ll speak of this with my brother once I’m home. As I’ve said, he’s worthy of his position. He’ll listen to me; I’m sure of it.”
“How can you be so sure?” I asked, wary. “From what I’ve heard, Prince Liqin is much like your father.”
“You can’t always rely on gossip,” Ren disagreed.
“I grew up in the palace with my brother. I know what he’s really like.
After my mother died, Liqin took me under his wing.
He tutored me in calligraphy and stayed by my bedside when I was ill.
He even helped me escape the palace when I told him I wanted to enlist in the military.
” Ren paused. “That’s not to say he isn’t occasionally impatient or distracted.
But whatever his past errors, Liqin will be a great ruler, I know it.
Like you, he cares deeply about his duty. ”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “Such pretty words from one who cares little for duty.”
“I’ll admit I’m not like my brother, or you.” He grinned. “But I don’t attempt to hide it. You can trust my honesty, Mistress Kang.”
“Are you implying I’m dishonest?”
“I’d never dare to imply such a thing,” he said lightly. “Not when it concerns you, dear priestess.”
I scowled but said nothing. What could I say against him when I had, in all dishonesty, broken the law before by smuggling goods across borders? Not that I regretted it. I could never regret doing what I needed to support my family.
“You’d do well to be a little more filial,” I said, backtracking the conversation to avoid thinking of my own flaws. I wasn’t entirely persuaded by Ren’s portrait of his brother, but I could relate to Prince Liqin’s alleged sense of responsibility. “Duty can be a fulfilling thing.”
Ren tucked his hands beneath his head and closed his eyes. “That may be true for you and Liqin, but I very much doubt it for myself.”
I sighed. Perhaps he saw me as a mindless ox carrying the yoke of filial piety.
Of course, honoring my father was important.
But I didn’t act mindlessly. I was well suited to the work of corpse-driving, and I treasured memories of walking beaten paths, guiding the pitiful dead, with Baba beside me.
Whatever Ren thought, I was content with my role.
“What about your mother?” I asked. He hadn’t said anything of her death, except in passing, and I recalled how stunned he’d been when Mistress Ming told him the truth. “Do you feel any duty toward her?”
The corner of Ren’s mouth twitched, the slightest sign that he was perturbed. After a long pause, he confessed, “I’d like to find her killer, of course. But I can’t do anything until I’m fully recovered.”
I nodded. Though he said little, it was clear that even he had his own reasons for returning to Hulin. Surprisingly, I hoped he got what he wanted.
At nightfall, we returned to the road and traveled another full day.
By the next sunset, the town of Guangli spread out across the landscape before us, its left wing tapering into a glittering lake.
The lanterns lining the streets had already been lit, welcoming the evening quiet.
The gauzy scent of smoke and mud tangled with the breeze.
I wanted to scout out the town before heading for its only mansion, which was rumored to be haunted by a former shamaness.
My experience with Liu Chunhua had taught me to gather information instead of assuming what was true.
I also wanted to be as prepared as possible should this spirit be even more dangerous.
As we entered the town, I realized that the residents hadn’t merely dotted the streets with light—they’d illuminated every corner and eave, every brazier and window.
The town appeared to be made of lights, some pure white while others flickered red, gold, and green behind delicate dyed paper.
Accustomed to the dark, my eyes took a moment to adjust.
Once they did, I noticed the stickers taped to each door and frame. I didn’t need to squint to recognize the protection charms inked across them.
Talismans. The town was covered in talismans.
“Excuse me,” I said, hailing a passing resident who bore a moon-round lantern in his hand. Politely, he stopped, although he appeared to be in a rush.
“Yes, miss?” he asked, too distracted to notice my priestess dress.
“Is there a festival happening?” I gestured to the lights glowing like the skies of the gods. “If so, where are all the people?”
Save for the man and a few stragglers wandering up and down the lane, the area was unnaturally empty.
“No, no festival, miss.” The man’s eyes darted nervously up the street. “We must light the lanterns every night to keep the evil away.”
An icy finger trailed up my spine. “What evil?”
“The evil that resides in Jing Mansion.” He shuddered, his free hand crushing the sleeve of his opposite arm.
“We’re actually here to visit the mansion,” Ren said. Once again, he had tucked his Fu talisman into his hood.
The man sucked in a sharp breath. He examined us more closely, his gaze lingering on my staff. “Are you exorcists?”
“Something like that,” I said.
“Then you may as well turn back. Every exorcist who has attempted to purify Jing Mansion has—”
“Failed?” Ren finished for him. “It’s all right. We’ve dealt with dangerous spirits before.”
“No, you don’t understand.” The man’s fear was palpable, like cold static radiating off his body. “They didn’t just fail. They never left the mansion.”
I frowned. “You didn’t send officers to investigate?”
“No officer dares step foot on the mansion grounds. Travelers won’t even enter our town boundaries, so terrifying is the power of that mansion.
” He grimaced. “Lack of tourism has really dented our coffers, you know. The mansion has taken much from us—money, our dignity, peace of mind … The constant threat of war doesn’t help matters either.
” He sighed. “Still, we can do nothing but light the lanterns.”