Chapter 42 #2
Besides, “Nüshu” was a strange nickname for a child. It meant, as far as Liu knew, nothing. Normally a pet name would be “little bear,” “tiger moon.” His name for Alice had been “bunny.” A play on the breakfast treat they both loved.
He’d forgotten about that until just now.
He pulled out his phone and typed “Nüshu” in the search engine.
To his astonishment, the results sprang out.
He didn’t know what he expected, but it sure wasn’t this.
He compared his screen with the photo of the child.
And more specifically, the embroidery she was holding.
Sewn into it was the same series of slashes and dots he saw on his phone.
“Nüshu,” he whispered.
“The Four Perils,” whispered Ming-na as they entered the temple, “are mythical creatures said to be born from the defiance of the emperor.”
Coconut buns …
“Hundun is chaotic and destructive. Taotie has insatiable greed and gluttony. Qiongqi is a fearsome beast with the ability to fly and devour humans—”
“Shhhh,” hissed Alice. “Do you hear something?”
Both women stopped and listened. There was an unmistakable hum. Either some great monster breathing or …
Fans, lots of them.
They looked at each other in shock. My God, we were right. Unless the emperor’s engineers also invented the computer thousands of years ago, Pangu was here. That sound could only be the cooling of mainframes.
They’d made a cursed tomb their headquarters. A stroke of genius, until it wasn’t. The geniuses hadn’t counted on mercury. Or maybe they had, and didn’t care how it affected the workers. Whoever was running Pangu had more than a passing resemblance to Qin Shi Huang.
The women turned around. And around. The sound seemed to be all around them. It was impossible to pin it down.
Ming-na consulted the rough map. “This way.” As they crept forward, she finished the thought. “Taowu,” she whispered, “is associated with the pursuit of power.”
Which was what they were also pursuing, though of a different sort than Taowu sought.
To the ancients, the qualities of the Four Perils must’ve been terrifying. To Alice, they sounded like prerequisites for political office.
Hyperaware of their surroundings. Eyes sharp. The now gang of two had to both hurry and be careful. The sound was getting louder.
“This’s where we are,” whispered Ming-na, pointing at the map. “The opening over there must lead to Pangu.”
Inching forward, their axes at the ready, Alice and her aunt moved toward the wide archway, framed in intricate, delicate latticework made by master artisans thousands of years earlier.
Two large terracotta statues stood sentinel on either side.
“Chang-e,” Ming-na said, and pointed to the one on the left. The moon goddess was dressed in flowing robes. She wore a serene expression, casting a gentle gaze on the intruders.
Opposite her was Xihe, the mother of the ten suns that nearly destroyed the earth. She had fierce, radiant features, and seemed to glower at them.
“Yin and yang,” Ming-na said.
Alice peeked around the corner, then pulled back, her eyes wide.
“Oh Christ. It can’t be…”
“What?” hissed her aunt. “Not the Four Perils?”
Alice shook her head.
“The Four Beasts?”
Alice shook her head even harder, as though trying to shake something loose. “Worse.”
Ming-na took a quick look and just as quickly pulled back.
There, in the middle of the room on an elevated gold throne, sat a massive figure.
His thick, powerful legs planted wide, as though astride his world.
His barrel chest and arms were clad in the same armor as the Terracotta Warriors.
But his wasn’t clay; his armor was made of bright red lacquered tiles, unfaded by time.
On his head was a gold plank with strings of beads, gems, hanging down so that no one could make direct eye contact.
Through them, the women could see that his eyes burned deep in their sockets.
In his massive hand was a rod.
“Oh Jesus,” whispered Ming-na.
Jesus had also risen from the dead, Alice thought. There was no doubt who was sitting on the throne, and this wasn’t Jesus.
She shut her eyes tight, then opened them when she heard her name. Ming-na’s voice was strained. A rifle was pointed at Alice’s head. Hovering within centimeters of her now crossed eyes.
“Who are you?” a young woman demanded.
Alice raised her hands, making sure to press her body against the wall, pinning the pickaxe there.
“Who are you?” Alice countered, in what she hoped was a commanding voice, though not loud enough to draw the attention of the creature on the throne.
They were trapped between hell and high water. Between a dead and demented emperor and a very living person with a very deadly weapon.
The young man and woman were obviously fairly new recruits. They had not been in the necropolis long enough to have their brains eaten away by the mercury.
“We’re the ones with the guns,” said the man.
“And I’m the one with”—Alice lowered her hand to her pocket—“this.”
She brought out the MSS ID she’d taken off the dead Pangu woman. “Wang sent us. He needs us to report on the attack. Lower your weapons immediately.”
She glared at them.
The guards looked at one another. They might not know these women, but they sure knew Wang. Or of him, at least.
“Go outside,” commanded Alice, pressing her advantage. “Make sure those lunatics don’t interfere. We saw some on the steps up to the palace.”
“What are they?” the young woman asked, lowering her weapon.
They’re you, in a few weeks, thought Alice, but didn’t say. “It doesn’t matter. You just need to stop them.”
They watched the two guards move away. Farther. Farther. Until they rounded the corner and disappeared.
Then Alice and Ming-na turned back to the archway. Afraid to look. To see what was there. Finally, both peeked.
The room was indeed filled with servers. Mainframes. Fans.
Several men and women sitting at monitors. And a long-dead emperor.
Chen heard it before he saw it. A rumble in the skies. Getting louder.
He knew what it was, even if no one else did. It was the end.
They were twenty-one minutes into the parade. Tanks were rolling past the viewing stand. He’d been saluting for … forever, it seemed.
The first few parades he attended, in the early years of his presidency, were thrilling. To see the might at his command. The soldiers all saluting him. The farmer’s son, from the remote province.
But after a few of these, having to salute for hours became not just tedious but uncomfortable.
Chen glanced up. It was dark, and he couldn’t see them coming. The missiles. But he could hear them. The gods, laughing.