Chapter 24
Compared to the rest, Ying had a relatively easier time for this assessment because she’d done half her work before the test had even begun.
She stared at the neat row of cannonballs sitting on the table, propped up by the ugly wooden stands that she had crudely whittled. Harried footsteps rushed back and forth around her as the others readied their prototypes for the final assessment. There was barely half a stick of incense left before they were to set off, and still there seemed to be a mountain of work to be done.
Ying’s cannonball would be a fitting conclusion to her father’s work at the guild, and the beginning of her own journey in engineering. A sheet of rice paper sat in front of her, bearing the sketches and design considerations behind her cannonballs, together with the small bamboo canister that hid the ming-roen ore within—and something else, a thin, shapeless object wrapped within swaddles of cloth.
She still hadn’t tested any of her prototypes. It was impossible to do that within the guild compound without melting the place to the ground. Not that it mattered, because she was confident that she could achieve her goal. It was a fortunate coincidence that the High Commander had picked the topic that he did, else she would have to find a different way to get her designs in front of him.
Taking a deep breath, she piled the cannonballs onto a sheet of cotton together with the canister of devil’s ore and bundled them neatly. Slipping the other cloth-wrapped package beneath the cross-folds of her guild uniform, she ran out of the workshop to catch up with the others.
The wagons took them all the way to the outskirts of town, where the eastern canal ended and the cityscape transitioned into a sprawling grassland. The plot of land was blocked to unauthorized entry by a tall fence surrounding the perimeter, designated as a military training ground for the Eight Banners. Guards from the Order checked the carriages before letting them through, and the nineteen nervous candidates alighted, arms cradling their precious projects.
To Ying’s surprise, a familiar figure was already waiting at the training ground, pacing up and down impatiently in his guild robes. When he saw her alight, his face lit up with a smile. He waved.
“What are you doing here?” Ying asked, walking over to the fourteenth prince. “Are you taking part in today’s test?”
Ye-kan nodded excitedly. “I begged my e-niye for three whole days before she finally relented. But her condition is that I have to return to the palace immediately after the test ends, because I’m supposed to wait on A-ma’s bedside. Also, I’m not allowed to join the guild, even if I pass the trial,” he said, pulling a face.
Ying frowned. “The High Commander…is he badly injured?”
Ye-kan grimaced, his expression turning solemn. “The palace physicians have tried their best, and they say he should recover with enough rest, but that’s if he keeps his composure and doesn’t let his emotions get out of hand.” He lowered his voice. “A-ma’s not in good shape. The campaign took a bad turn, and we’ve had to recall all our bannermen. The casualties are much more severe than we had anticipated.” He paused, then added, “The beiles should be returning with the other men today or tomorrow.”
He waited for a reaction from Ying, but she kept her expression neutral. As if Ye-yang’s whereabouts didn’t concern her.
In the background, Master Gerel began the roll call. Ying hurried to take her position, trying to empty her mind of everything she had just heard. What she needed to do now was focus on the task at hand—and what was to come.
A senior apprentice went around collecting their design sketches, disappearing with them.
“Good morning,” Gerel greeted. “Without further ado, we will proceed with today’s evaluation. In the allocated time, you will test your prototypes and the guild masters will assess you based on the utility and impact of what you have produced. You may make use of any of the equipment provided at this training ground for your demonstration.” He gestured toward a rack full of standard weaponry, including a cannon sitting stoically by the side. “Is that clear?”
A unified chorus of agreement rang out, and a gong was struck to signal that the final test had begun.
Then the ground began to vibrate—and the earth split apart.
The twenty candidates stared in shock as the ground before them divided like an opening trap door, revealing a yawning black hole that could have easily fit a small airship. Ying clutched her creation tightly against her chest, her heart thrumming with anticipation and anxiety as she waited for it to appear.
Some of the other boys began inching backward, while the rest were visibly trembling in their boots.
A thunderous roar rattled the air.
Someone screamed.
Then they saw it. A rush of gold sped out through the hole in the ground, its serpentine body undulating in powerful waves as it flew up toward the sky. Ying gasped, awestruck by the terrible beauty of the creature she was witnessing.
It was a dragon.
Unlike the chimeras, who were living, breathing animals that had been embellished with mechanical parts, this dragon was a complete automaton, with scales hammered from gold and teeth and talons that shone like polished steel.
It was hovering proudly above them, studying each and every candidate with the jerky motions of its smooth obsidian eyes, tethered within their bronze sockets.
“Abka Han save us,” someone whispered, echoing the prayer that was running through almost everyone’s minds.
When they heard that the theme for the final test was “to kill a dragon,” none of them had expected that they would actually have to kill a literal dragon. How were they supposed to even land a scratch on a machine that seemed invincible?
An-xi was the first to spring into action. Gritting his teeth, the boy quickly unwrapped the linen from around his elongated bundle, revealing a set of cylindrical copper tubes that looked like the fireworks that the Antarans set off during festive occasions. He ran to an empty spot and squatted down, aiming his first cylinder toward the dragon’s body. With shaky fingers, he struck a flint and lit the tip of the cord extending from the back of his tube, then he shoved the entire thing into the ground and stumbled several feet back, hands pressed against his ears.
There was a loud bang, and the entire cylinder went hurtling toward the towering beast that was still suspended in the air. In mid-flight, something silver shot out from An-xi’s tube—like the sharpened tip of a spear—reflecting a blinding ray of light into Ying’s eyes. She blinked, and in that instant the dragon’s body lurched backward.
A silver rod was pierced into its upper torso, lodged between two scale plates.
“Yes! It worked!” the boy shrieked, his mousy braids bouncing as he jumped up and down in delight.
But though his invention had successfully found its target, it barely left a dent on the dragon’s metallic hide. The next moment, the creature dipped its head downward.
“An-xi!” Chang-en threw himself forward and shoved the other boy to one side, just in the nick of time.
A ball of flames shot out from the dragon’s gaping jaws. Ying thought she could see the kaen gas tube that had been built into its mouth. The ground where An-xi had been standing was charred to a crisp, and a sour, rancid smell was wafting in the air—the smell of burning kaen gas.
So that’s what’s keeping the dragon in flight, Ying thought, amazed at the ingenuity involved in the creation of the automaton. The snaking body of the creature was likely hollow, filled with pockets of gas that helped give it the lift it needed while also serving as fuel for the fiery weapon concealed within its mouth.
An-xi was sprawled on the ground, the blood drained from his sallow cheeks as he stared at the burnt patch of earth. He punched the dirt in frustration.
Taking An-xi’s lead, the rest of the boys started to make their own moves. There was a flurry of movement as they unveiled their prototypes one by one, rushing to set things up so that they could be the first to bring the dragon down and succeed in this test.
Ying took a look around.
There were variations of crossbows, catapults, and multipronged spears, most of which were enhanced versions of existing weaponry. Ye-kan had built an automated missile launcher of sorts that rotated like a water wheel and could rapidly fire metal projectiles the size of someone’s fist. Chang-en was holding one of the strangest inventions of the lot—a pigeon carved from wood.
“It’s a hawk!” he scolded, when he caught the incredulous look in her eyes.
He lit a fuse at the base of the bird’s tail, and to everyone’s surprise, it took off soaring into the air. When it reached a certain height, a hatch popped open at its belly, firing a series of deadly arrows down toward the ground with remarkable force.
Only one of the arrows struck the dragon on the back, while the rest nearly impaled some of the other candidates. Chang-en shouted an apology, catching his mechanical hawk as it came gliding back down.
Ying didn’t stop to watch him reload. Instead, she ran over to the silent cannon sitting by the side of the arena. Sucking in a breath, she carefully unwrapped what she had brought with her—orbs the shade of blackest night, gleaming as they reflected the sunbeams.
Alarmed shouts rang out as the dragon ejected another round of fiery breath, sending some of the boys leaping out of the way.
With shaky hands, Ying uncapped the bamboo canister and carefully wicked a small quantity of silver fluid into the tiny hole in her first cannonball. The piece of coarse twine disintegrated, disappearing together with the silvery tinge. Cannonball in hand, she shoved it down the barrel in one swift motion, then aimed the mouth of the cannon toward the levitating dragon.
It was a good thing her target was so large, and its movements somewhat stilted. It was likely also a prototype, same as their weapons. She spied Master Lianshu sitting by the sidelines, sucking on a stick of haw candy, her goldfish-like eyes glittering with pride as she gazed upon the monstrous automaton—and she could guess who created the beast.
Ying picked up a torch from the side of the weapons rack and set it alight, holding the flame toward the cannon’s fuse. A spark. The woven cotton began to shorten rapidly, black smoke issuing as its fibers singed.
A loud explosion rang out as the pressure from the gunpowder sent the cannonball hurtling out of the sturdy barrel. Everyone clapped their hands to their ears, staring at the trajectory of the orb.
The cannonball struck the dragon on the left side of its torso, embedding itself into the creature’s metal frame the same way An-xi’s projectile had. Ying quickly followed with a second cannonball, this time striking the dragon directly in its left eye. Then a third, to its tail.
“Is that all, Aihui Min?” Master Gerel called out, not disguising the scorn in his tone. “Did you only bring ordinary cannonballs?”
“Look! Look!” someone suddenly shouted.
All eyes shifted toward the levitating automaton. The cannonballs that Ying fired had dislodged and fallen back down to the ground, leaving cavities in the dragon’s body—holes that were expanding.
It was surreal, watching the fearsome dragon disintegrate before their eyes.
Everyone pressed their palms to their ears to block out the piercing screech that sounded like gear wheels malfunctioning. Then the dragon plunged down, crashing dramatically in a cloud of displaced dirt and grass.
Gerel pointed one trembling finger at the collapsed automaton that was still twisting and jerking its contorted frame. “What in Abka Han’s name happened there? What sorcery is this!” he yelled. Lianshu had also scrambled to her feet, her expression a colorful blend of astonishment and awe.
“It worked,” Ying mumbled, still in a daze. Exactly like she had hoped. The ore had seeped out through the tiny opening when it struck the dragon, then progressively ate away at whatever it touched, dissolving the creature from within.
If the cannonball had struck an army of men, they would have been reduced to a puddle of flesh and bone.
Before anyone could react, the thunderous clapping of hooves pounding the dirt approached. A man dressed in black brigandine armor rode into the training ground, accompanied by a nine-tailed fox.
“By order of the High Commander,” he announced, “Aihui Min is summoned to the palace immediately.” He glanced briefly at the damaged dragon lying in its pit, then surveyed the blank faces of the candidates. “Which one of you is Aihui Min?”
Ying raised one trembling hand, the other balled tightly into a fist by her side. Her gaze was fixed upon the gnarled scar that stretched across his left eye. It was him. Not hiding behind a mask this time, not lurking in the shadows, but standing before her in full uniform, with the insignia of the Cobra’s Order pinned proudly at his right shoulder.
She had expected to be summoned. After all, she had intentionally baited the High Commander by imbuing hints of her father’s work into the cannonball sketches she had submitted for the test. She just wished it weren’t her father’s murderer who would be escorting her there.
“What’s the matter? Why is Aihui Min being sent for? The trial is not yet over,” Ye-kan called out. He walked over to Ying’s side, standing between her and the guard protectively.
Ying reached out and patted Ye-kan on the shoulder, signaling to him with a slight shake of the head. “It’s all right,” she said. She picked up her belongings and headed toward the guard. It was suffocating, having to approach the man who had killed her father and pretend that there was nothing wrong. Still, she kept her composure.
When she stood before him, she tilted her head upward and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m ready,” she said.
The man grunted, jerking a thumb toward the carriage that was waiting by the gates. He showed no signs of recognizing her. She wondered if he would, had she been dressed as a girl instead of donning the guild’s uniform, and what he would do if he did. Set his vicious fox on her again perhaps?
“Wait!” Ye-kan jogged over. “I’ll come with you.”
“Ye-kan, there’s no need. You can stay here and listen to guild masters’ trial evaluation,” Ying said, hurrying her steps.
“No,” he said firmly, giving his father’s guard a suspicious glare. “I’ll come with you. The results are inconsequential to me anyway.”
Realizing that the boy was not going to change his mind, Ying sighed, allowing him to clamber up into the carriage with her.
A pair of vermilion doors carved with the latticework motifs of curving serpents stood between her and the man who had single-handedly shattered her peaceful life. Ying glanced down at the obsidian pendant hanging off the broad belt of her escort. In broad daylight, she could clearly see the pattern carved into the stone, of the dragon soaring righteously toward the heavens.
An impostor. A snake who thinks he can fly.
The guard knocked on the door and announced her arrival.
“Send him in,” a hoarse voice answered from within.
The doors were opened from the inside by an unsmiling attendant, who looked surprised to see the fourteenth prince also standing there.
“A-ma!” Ye-kan called out, stepping across the threshold and walking toward the inner chamber.
The High Commander sat reclining on his daybed, a familiar sheet of paper spread out on the table beside him. The room smelled overwhelmingly of sandalwood, coming from the incense burners sitting in the corners, but Ying could detect the repugnant odor of medicinal herbs that it was trying to suppress.
Ye-kan had been right when he said his father had not returned from the Qirin territories in good shape. It looked as if death was clawing at the doors she had just come through. Unlike the commanding, authoritative presence that she remembered, the High Commander’s cheeks were sallow and ashen, his piercing gray eyes hazy and unfocused. Even the way he sat, with one elbow resting tired against the ebony armrest, made him appear frail and weak.
“Number Fourteen, what are you doing here?” the High Commander demanded, forehead wrinkling into a deep frown. “I did not summon you.”
“E-niye said that I’m to wait by your side, in case you need anything. And since I was also participating in the guild’s final test when you summoned Min for an audience, I thought I might as well come along,” the prince replied.
“Your Excellency,” Ying greeted, stepping out from behind Ye-kan. She had tried to convince him to leave, but he stubbornly refused. Now she could only hope that the High Commander would send him away. Ye-kan’s presence could interfere with her plan, and she didn’t want him to bear witness to what she might do.
She bowed stiffly, so that the slim package she had hidden beneath her robes wouldn’t slip out with one careless move.
The High Commander’s gaze shifted toward her, and he waved Ye-kan to the side. He studied her for a moment, then asked, “Aihui Min, this is your work?” He held out the parchment that was lying before him, pointing at the cannonball sketches that she had drawn for her test submission.
She nodded.
Aogiya Lianzhe’s slate-gray irises seemed to regain a spark of vitality. His back straightened as he leaned forward, regarding her with interest. “This cannot have come from you alone. You have seen your father’s work, am I right?” he probed, an urgency in his tone. “Is there more where this came from? Shan-jin’s journal, do you have it?”
Ying inhaled sharply at the mention of her father’s name. Her fingers clenched into fists, the fabric of her sleeves crumpling in her hands. Her father’s journal was still safe within the guild, and the High Commander would never be able to lay his greedy hands on it, she would make sure of that.
“What journal? What’s going on?” Ye-kan asked, confusion reflected in his eyes.
The High Commander picked up a stack of yellowed pages from his side and held them out. “The designs that you drew, they are completely aligned with Shan-jin’s previous works. You must have seen them before,” he said.
So he was the one who ripped out the pages from my father’s old guild records.
She should have known.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Where is your father’s journal? Tell me!” Aogiya Lianzhe bellowed, his patience wearing thin.
“Did you,” Ying started, her voice dangerously quiet, slicing through the air like a sharpened blade, “send someone to kill my father? To steal his work?”
“Min, I don’t understand,” Ye-kan stammered, reaching out to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “What are you talking about? What does any of this have to do with your father?”
Before the High Commander could answer, someone burst in through the doors, shouting at the top of her lungs. “Aogiya Lianzhe! What’s the meaning of this? You sent your men to Huarin? You killed Shan-jin?”
It was Master Lianshu, her face flushed with rage as she marched forward and placed herself between Ying and the High Commander. Attendants and armed guards followed warily behind, though they did nothing to stop the woman from approaching. She was, after all, an Aogiya.
The High Commander’s expression darkened, but he waved his hand to dismiss his men.
“Lianshu, it’s been a long time since you willingly came to see me.”
“For good reason,” Lianshu snapped. “So? Is it true? Were you responsible for Shan-jin’s death? Were you trying to steal our cannon designs?”
Aogiya Lianzhe set his lips in a hard line, then he looked away and sighed. The harshness in the lines of his face suddenly dissipated, and for a moment Ying was almost deceived into thinking he was but a harmless old man, hovering between the gates of life and death. He looked past Lianshu’s shoulder toward Ying.
“How did you know it was me, child?”
Ying retrieved the jade pendant from beneath the folds of her robes and threw it onto the floor in front of the High Commander. “I grabbed this off the man who murdered my father. This belongs to your personal guard, doesn’t it? It belongs to him! I saw him do it!” She pointed an accusing finger at the scarred man, who was standing by the side of the room with one hand positioned warily upon his hilt.
The High Commander took one glance at the black jade, and the furrows across his forehead deepened. “How did you get this? It was Shan-jin’s daughter who—” The realization dawned in his eyes. “You’re not Aihui Min. You’re Ying, Shan-jin’s oldest girl.” He threw his head back and laughed, as if he had just heard an amusing joke. Lianshu blanched, staring at Ying incredulously. “Bravo! You had us all fooled. To think you’ve been here all this while, parading about in the Engineers Guild, and yet no one suspected a thing. You have it, don’t you? Your father’s book.”
“Even if I did, I would never give it to you,” Ying spat.
Anger flashed like lightning in Aogiya Lianzhe’s eyes. He was not accustomed to such open defiance. “I never intended to harm Shan-jin,” he insisted. “I admit, I wanted the cannon designs and Lianshu refused to give it to me, forcing me to resort to other means. If he hadn’t been so stubborn and resisted, then none of this would have happened. It was an accident.”
Lianshu pointed an accusatory finger at her brother, the veins at her temples throbbing. “Shan-jin is dead, all because of your greed! If I had known this would happen, then I wouldn’t have, I wouldn’t have—” She spluttered, choking on her own words in her haste.
“I had no choice!” the High Commander shouted. “How many times did I try to convince him to help me? Convince you? Shan-jin was supposed to be my best friend! But he left and chose to lead that hermit life instead of supporting our cause. This isn’t for my sake, it’s for the sake of the Antaran territories, about each of the nine isles and every single person who lives on them. Shan-jin didn’t just turn his back on me, he turned his back on all of us. I’m not the selfish one, Lianshu. You are. Shan-jin was.”
“Don’t try to push the blame to us. Your little war games have nothing to do with me. I made this clear to you years ago that I wanted no part in this,” Lianshu retorted.
Ying closed her eyes, wishing she could drown out the cacophony that was ringing in her ears. Her father had been Aogiya Lianzhe’s best friend? The scribbles she had discovered in her father’s guild books, the playful jibes and exchanges—she finally knew who that mystery person was. There must have once been a time when her father and Aogiya Lianzhe had laughed and learned in those same workshops the way she, Chang-en, and Ye-kan had.
How could a friendship have disintegrated this way?
Accident or not, Aogiya Lianzhe had killed her father for the sake of his selfish goals. His best friend’s blood was on his hands.
It was all excuses. From both of them. Lianshu was as guilty as her brother for what had happened. The righteous rage she was displaying now, the way she was acting like she was here to protect Ying—all of it was self-serving. To absolve herself of blame.
“Ying, are you all right?” Ye-kan whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know any of this…”
She shook her head. “That’s enough,” she said.
“Aogiya Lianshu, why do you think you were able to become a guild master? Did you truly believe that it was because you were some engineering genius? That you were so fantastically brilliant that the guild willingly bent its admission rules for you?” the High Commander railed. “The only reason why you’re wearing those robes is because you’re an Aogiya. Yet you refuse to bear the responsibility of your clan name!”
“Enough!” Ying shouted, her voice ringing loud and clear across the entire room.
What had she been expecting? An apology? An explanation that it had all been a misunderstanding and that her father hadn’t in fact been murdered by someone he considered a friend?
Her heart ached for her a-ma. For the way he had been betrayed so thoroughly by two people that he must have once trusted so dearly.
All eyes in the room settled upon her, waiting for what she had to say next.
“I would like to speak to the High Commander alone.”
Lianshu frowned, and Ye-kan moved to grab hold of Ying’s arm. The only one who looked pleased about her request was Aogiya Lianzhe.
“What are you trying to do?” the prince whispered.
“You heard the girl.” The High Commander gestured with his index finger and his guards marched over. “Take the fourteenth prince and Lady Lianshu away,” he commanded, and the surly men took hold of Ye-kan and Lianshu by the shoulders, dragging the duo toward the door.
“A-ma, what are you doing?” Ye-kan exclaimed. “Let me go! I’m not going anywhere. A-ma, don’t do anything to Ying, please!”
“Aogiya Lianzhe, I swear, if you dare hurt the child in any way, I’ll never forgive you!”
Within seconds, both of them were dragged out of the inner chamber and the doors were locked shut, leaving Ying with only the High Commander and his scar-faced confidant.