CHAPTER FIVE
I t’s raining, hard slivers pelting down, but I welcome it.
Rain makes it easier to pretend the water in my eyes isn’t tears, that I’m not stupid enough to shed them over something meaningless.
But I’m not crying just for Songmin or the things he said.
If life is a game, I lose each round. Everything I touch turns to ash; everyone I love, I’ve lost.
The forest folds me in its familiar embrace.
The air smells of grass and earth, the rain lightening to a drizzle.
I shiver, breaking into a run to keep warm.
As I weave through the bamboo stalks, my feet instinctively take me back to the pond, though I can’t say why—I don’t even have a net to catch the carp.
Maybe it’s to recapture the fleeting wonder I felt there, the tranquility.
I hadn’t imagined it. The flowers are still in bloom, the pears hanging from the trees invitingly. I’ll pluck more to ease Mistress Henglan’s suspicions at my delay. I just don’t want to go home yet; I’d rather be anywhere else.
The reeds rustle, the waters mirroring the gray skies above.
As I stand by the edge, staring at my reflection, it ripples abruptly, the carp’s silvery head poking through.
It studies me in silence with those golden eyes.
I don’t move, deciding it’s wiser to cultivate the creature’s trust rather than attempt to trap it now.
I’d only hurt it this way, and a dead fish won’t fetch the gold I need.
Part of me recoils at the thought—how vile, to weigh the creature’s life this way—but I’ve learned to do a lot of things I don’t like.
“You’re crying again,” the carp says in its matter-of-fact way.
I blink, wishing my eyes didn’t redden so easily. It helps there’s not a trace of sympathy in the carp’s tone. I don’t like letting others see my weaknesses in case they use them against me.
“Does it make you happy?” I counter. “Because you think I want to harm you?”
Its mouth parts wider. “Oh, I’m certain you still do. But I’ve told you the truth: I’ll die if taken forcibly from these waters.”
The gravity in its manner chips away at my suspicion. Yet the carp has a silver tongue; I shouldn’t give it a chance to persuade me.
“Why are you sad?” it asks.
“Because of life. A boy.” I don’t know why I’m replying, but it untangles the tightness inside me.
It’s been a long time since I’ve really talked to anyone.
As a fortune teller, even a false one, any conversation centers on the customers: their problems, their worries.
As for Songmin… we never talked much. I flush at the memory, crumpling it away like discarded paper.
“Ah,” the fish says sagely. “You were crying when we met too. Does this boy make you cry often?”
I glare, irked by its observation. “What do you know about such matters?”
“Nothing whatsoever,” the carp replies. “But if anyone brings you such misery, cut them loose. Find your people, those who fill your heart rather than take from it.”
Its words burrow into me. My mind shifts from Songmin to Mistress Henglan, to the thought of leaving for good. There is no one I will miss here.
“You are right.” As I step closer to the pond, the carp glides toward me, its tail undulating like a ribbon. “Will you really die if taken from here?” I ask, wishing I didn’t care.
“I never lie,” it replies gravely. “Do you still want to eat or catch me?”
The carp has almost reached the bank. It would be so easy to plunge my hands into the water to pull it out and wrestle it down—to spear it with a sharpened stick. “Who wants to eat you?” I protest shamelessly. “You probably don’t taste good.”
“I taste exceedingly vile,” it assures me.
Laughter bursts from me. I quell it, hardening myself. “How did you end up here?” I should keep the carp talking to lower its guard… though I’m no longer certain what to do.
“I chose this place.” It adds with disdain, “It wasn’t much to look at before, weed infested, with muddied waters.”
“Why come here, then?” With the magic the creature claims to have, it should have chosen somewhere else—anywhere else.
It doesn’t reply right away, studying me, its eyes shining with knowing. “I was looking for you.”
I would laugh again, except its claim makes me a little angry. It reminds me of the wild hopes I used to clutch at, that someone would rescue me from the nightmare my life had become, of the times I cried myself to sleep with a fist over my mouth to avoid waking Mistress Henglan.
“No one helps girls like me,” I say flatly. “We help ourselves.”
Its fins droop as though saddened. “You think no one cares for you, that you are alone in the world,” it remarks with uncanny insight. “You are not.”
Something sparks within, an inconvenient reluctance to hurt the creature, the flicker of conscience I tried to bury. This is why I shouldn’t let myself think, why I can’t soften, why I shouldn’t befriend my prey.
“What makes you think you know me?” I speak rudely, grasping for a barrier to drag between us.
“Your ring.”
Its tail flicks a spray of water at me, but I don’t feel it, staring at my finger. No one else asks about my ring, no one seems to notice. When the fish stared at my hands the first time, I thought it was looking at the stick.
“This ring?” I hold up my left hand. “I bought it in the market.” A lie to snare a liar.
“No,” the carp replies with unwavering certainty, its eyes blazing brighter. “You’ve always had it, except you don’t know what it is—just that it makes you feel better and that you don’t ever want to take it off.”
My knees buckle as I sink down to the bank, afraid, yet desperate to learn more. “How do you know?”
“Will you trust me?” the carp asks.
And maybe I’m a fool, but I nod. I’m not lying to the fish anymore. Not just because it knows things about me that no one else does… but this desire to trust it comes from a place deep inside, the instinct I’ve always leaned on when all else fails.
“Then we are friends,” it tells me firmly.
After my uncle’s death, my few friends fell out of my life. Maybe it was because I no longer had time for play, or maybe they feared misfortune was catching. “I would like that,” I find myself saying. “What do I call you?”
“We don’t need names to remember who we are. But you may give me one.”
“Then—how about ‘Little Fish’?”
“A weak name, wholly unimaginative,” it complains, despite its earlier indifference.
As a breeze stirs around us, I remember a myth I heard. “There is an old folktale: that the carp who could swim up an enchanted waterfall would be transformed into a dragon, to soar into the skies.”
“A worthy endeavor,” it says approvingly.
“Then I’ll call you ‘Little Dragon,’” I suggest. “Because I hope you will fly in the heavens one day.”
“Flatterer.” Yet its fins ripple in seeming pleasure. “I’m far from a dragon, but one can always aspire.”
We share a smile. “How did you know about my ring? What did you mean when you said I wasn’t alone?” I ask.
“Someone sent me to you. She gave you the ring you wear.”
“Who?” It doesn’t feel real that all this while, someone was looking out for me. The carp must be mistaken… though I don’t want it to be.
“Your mother.”
A deep joy flares in my heart, pierced through with sorrow—because she’s not here, because I can’t remember anything of her. “Is she… alive?”
“She was very ill, close to death, when I was summoned years ago,” the carp says heavily. “I was tasked with delivering the rest of her gift to you.”
It hurts, even though I’ve already resigned myself to this loss.
I breathe deeply to steady myself. Little Dragon flicks its tail, shimmering flecks drifting across the pond like dandelion seeds.
The earth around my feet quivers, a tiny shoot springing from the soil.
Leaves sprout along the twisted stalk, a bud forming that unfurls into a luminous six-petaled flower the color of pearls, a single thorn glinting from its side.
Fear rakes my insides. Magic is dangerous; if I’m discovered here, with the carp, I could be imprisoned or worse. I should run, to never return. But I don’t. Despite my fear, I want to know.
“Prick your finger on the thorn.”
It’s like time has stilled, the carp’s voice taking on a new resonance.
For some reason I trust it. My heart races as I shift closer—just a moment’s hesitation—then I’m pressing my finger against the thorn.
It stings, blood beading on my fingertip, sliding down the stalk.
The plant shudders, sheathed in dazzling radiance.
Its solitary blossom falls into my palm, the stem twisting into a thin circlet, coiled around the flower in the middle.
“What is this?” I ask in wonder.
“It belongs to you. To your ring.”
“Don’t speak in riddles.” I shake my head. “My ring is just ordinary wood, ‘worthless’ as my step-aunt said.”
“Is it worthless to you?”
“No!” I reply vehemently. “But this can’t be real.”
“Stop looking for reasons not to believe what I’m telling you,” the carp says somberly. “You know whether this is real or not.”
Fighting a burst of doubt, I pick up the circlet of stem and flower.
It pulses in my grip, my ring tingling in the same rhythm, like they are one and the same.
Nothing makes sense, yet it feels right.
A whisper seems to glide through the air, a name rustling through my mind like an echo, a shadow of memory: Yining.
My mother’s voice. I don’t recall her face, but I remember now the way she used to utter my name… like it was the most beautiful sound in the world. I hold the circlet over my finger, a powerful impulse compelling me to push it down—
“Wait.” The carp’s voice rings out. “This is not just a flower; this is your heritage—a great gift and responsibility that you will bear the rest of your life.”
My hand stills; I’m not one for burdens or unseen tethers. “What do you mean?”
“Once you accept the flower, you will be bound to it—you can never relinquish it. It becomes as vital as your limbs, as the blood that flows in your veins.”
I stare blankly at the delicate twist of stalk, my hand braced to fling it away, despite the urge to claim it. “What if I lose it? What if it’s stolen or taken from me?”
“You will die.” The carp’s tone is gentle, yet the words stab like knives.
“What? How? At once?”
“The longer you’ve had the flower, the deeper your bond with it—the more rapid your deterioration,” Little Dragon says gravely. “But the ring will protect itself, disguising its appearance so it’s not easily discerned by others, unless they are looking for it.”
“I don’t want it.” My instinct for survival kicks in, even as my fingers close protectively around the flower.
“That is your choice. Just know, this is the key to your home and family, to who you are.” The carp’s head droops. “Already the flower is withering. If you refuse this chance, soon it will be lost forever.”
The tips of the petals are crinkling, my wooden ring throbbing with greater urgency. But still, I hold back. Rules and conditions, danger… I want none of them.
“Where is this home you speak of ?” I ask.
“I only know what I’ve been told to complete my task,” the carp replies. “But the one who sent me loved you even more than herself. It was why I agreed to find you, though I knew it would cost me greatly.” It stares at me, its scales shimmering. “Will you accept this gift?”
There is magic in this moment, rippling through the air, the flower in my palm. Though I’m terrified, I can’t shy from it… I won’t abandon this final gift from my mother.
I push the circlet over my finger, sliding it over the ring. The flower settles into the wood like it’s carved into it, the jade-green stalk twisting around the band. The grains along the wood fade until it appears crafted of luminous stone, as smooth as porcelain around my finger.
A lightness surges through my veins. I feel alive, like I’ve been half asleep all this while, something falling into place inside me, something I only just realized had been snapped away.
A sigh undulates from the fish. “At last, my task is complete. Guard the ring with your life.”
“How do I find my home? My family? Where do I start?”
“I do not know, but the ring will guide you.” The carp’s voice begins to falter. “I must rest now. Magic has its cost.”
“Thank you, for finding me.” Clasping my hands, I bow clumsily, the way I’ve seen some villagers greet visiting nobles. What I owe the carp is far greater than any words of gratitude might convey.
“I’ve been searching for a long time. My service was never meant to last this long, but I wanted to help your mother. May she be at peace now—as I am.” Little Dragon darts beneath the water then, swimming toward a bank of reeds.
Peace steals over me, the kind I’ve only known when my aunt and uncle were alive, the kind I’ve almost given up on.
My limbs feel heavy like I’ve run a long way.
I lie down on the grass, inhaling the fragrance of the flowers.
As my eyes close, sleep claims me at once, deep and untroubled—like someone beloved is watching over me once more.