Chapter 9
Bai Qian
“Mother, it’s Yingpei,” he announced, a broad grin splitting his face, and his voice was the sound of a pleasant chime against the quiet evening. “Fourth Uncle sent word—a crisp, official-looking scroll—that he went off with Uncle Zhe Yan, leaving you alone. So I’ve come to keep you company,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
The faint scent of opened peach wine hung in the air. Turning to Migu, he announced, “Hello, Uncle Migu! No tea tonight. Mother and I are having wine–lots of it!” His eyebrows playfully arched above bright, round eyes as a light, tinkling giggle escaped him. “And I have the most amazing secret to tell you!”
His long hair, pulled back from his face with a smooth bamboo hairpin, flows behind him like dark silk waves. He strides towards me, stopping when the hem of his silvery blue robe, layered over a shimmering silver undergarment, brushes my dress in a soft rustle. A cloud-like swathe of white silk, cinched at his waist, holds a white jade pendant. A luminous Qingqui pearl and a crystal orb, pulsing faintly with his fox essence, also on his belt, swing gently as he leans down, his cheek a soft weight on my hair.
My “Xiao Si, little four,” Yingpei did not grow up in Nine Heavens, unlike his other siblings. I learned that after I passed away, the twins who had acted as substitute mothers to Yingpei were grappling with their sorrow, just like everyone. Changchang held onto her uncle for support, while A-li and Changying remained close to Ye Hua. However, Yingpei did not follow suit. Perhaps he was unsure whether Ye Hua would comfort him as he had the older children, which was what his father would have done, or it was because the father-son bond had yet to develop between them. Regardless of the reason, Yingpei decided not to seek solace from Ye Hua and instead turned to the Fox family. It’s possible he felt the pull, the blood bond being a White Nine-Tailed Fox himself. What was meant to be just a week-long visit with his maternal grandparents when he was five hundred years old became a permanent stay, and he never left Qingqui.
Everyone declared that another of Yingpei’s magic is bringing out the best in people.
Bai Zhen, my fourth brother, is an absolute enigma, particularly when it comes to matters involving children. He could barely summon the patience to tolerate me when I followed him around like a shadow. He possessed a singular talent for turning cold shoulders and disinterested glances into an art form, to my childish ways. His idea of being an affectionate brother was giving me half of whatever fish he caught. Yet, in a twist of fate that even the oldest stars might find surprising, he had bonded with Yingpei, embracing him with a fatherly warmth that no one could have predicted or even known he had within him. This brother of mine, who once winced at the mere suggestion of marriage and fatherhood, cherishes Yingpei as if he were of his flesh and blood.
“Mother!” Yingpei announced dramatically, eyes shining bright, “I know you’ve worried about Second Jiejie’s trial, so I, Yingpei, have discovered her location to ease your mind!” He beamed with self-satisfaction, so much so that I couldn’t bring myself to tell him I already knew.
Clutching my chest, I gasped, “Yingpei?! How did you do it? Star Lord Si Ming is incredibly secretive about that!” His eyes widened further. “I know,” he exclaimed, “but Star Lord Si Ming tells Lord Donghui everything! So I used a Fox Spell to impersonate him.”
Wine sprayed across my dress as I choked, coughing in stunned silence. My daring child had impersonated Lord Donghui! Should I scold him? Pride warred with parental duty. It took incredible bravery—and a healthy dose of recklessness—to impersonate the white-haired deity of the Nine Heavens. Honestly, I’m disappointed I missed it. Of all my children, Yingpei is my true heir.
“Yingpei! Weren’t you afraid the real Lord Donghua might appear and spoil everything?” I asked. His grin, full of teeth and triumphant smugness, was almost unsettlingly hilarious. It was hard to keep a straight face. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, casually dismissing my concern. “Dege was busy playing chess with Lord Donghui, so all was well.”
I fought back a laugh, amazed by his audacity. Yingpei explained A-li’s chess skill was legendary; so impressive, he said, that even the most formidable opponents either trembled or, like Great-Uncle Lian Song, fled before a single stone was set down on the board. He’d already defeated his father and uncle, leaving them awestruck. Only two remained unbeaten: Changchang, who cheated by reading his mind, and the cunning old Lord Donghui. It was a matter of pride now, and A-li was determined to win, no matter the cost. These games sometimes stretched for hours, even days, with Donghui napping like the rock he once was while A-li pondered his next move.
Though we’re alone, Yingpei cups his hands, as if the walls themselves are listening. He whispers to Migu and me, “Mother, jiejie will face a calamity. A terrible fire at the temple tonight, and she’ll become entangled with a prince, fall in love, and… she’ll become his concubine.”
My daughter a concubine?!
I scoff in disbelief, furious. Leaping to my feet, I startle Migu and Yingpei. Typical of Si Ming—vague details and a cruel twist of fate! A mere concubine at that, considering she was to live and die a virgin?! The audacity! “What’s the plan, Yingpei?” I asked.
He says, determined, “I know where second jiejie is. Let’s stop the Prince from reaching the temple and handle the fire ourselves. Uncle Migu, will you guide us through the forest?”
Migu, trembling with fear, wraps his arms around himself. “I despise fires,” he murmurs. “I’ll stay here. Gugu and Prince Yingpei understand the situation better. Perhaps Gugu can encircle the princess’s residence with a Fox enchantment to protect it, prevent all magic, and stop Si Ming, or any other immortal, from changing Princess Changying’s fate again.”
Why didn’t it occur to me to shield Ying’er from magic? For a Mystic Gorge tree, Migu can be pretty clever.
Prince Ruilin~
I have wrapped myself in unavoidable intimacies with Yi Nuo. I’ve folded myself into her kindness, her care, her warmth, and I can’t deny there was safety in her care. I believe Princess Changying would understand, as she is a doctor herself. She would overlook other transgressions in the name of my survival, but sleeping in another woman’s bed and in her arms is something I cannot permit my heart to allow. Nor should I.
Not long ago, I heard the clatter of harnesses and the creak of wheels as the temple visitors and their horses hurriedly departed the mountainous area when the mild weather suddenly turned into a storm. By this time, everyone should be asleep. I can’t escape through the window because my shoulder is still too injured to use my wings, so I have to walk for now. Leaving while she’s alone in the storage room is the best opportunity for me. It’s much simpler to sneak past one sleeping girl than two dozen.
“Thank you, Yi Nuo. Despite feeding me bugs, I know your heart is kind. One day, when I’m stronger, I’ll return and teach Ya Qi a lesson for all the injustices you’ve suffered.” With that whispered promise, I remove her arm draped across my chest, creep from her bed, and stretch my legs.
The soft wool of the blanket feels smooth against her skin as I tuck it around her, thinking she’d be sad to wake to find “Pretty Boy” gone. However, our time together was meant to be fleeting. One last look at her sleeping face, then the soft click of the door closing behind me—the unfamiliar scents of the night air assault my senses in a confusing jumble. Ground-level navigation is a torment; my phoenix instincts screamed for an aerial view. But, serendipitously, I find the courtyard—a desolate expanse beneath a star-studded sky that comes into view, after the mysterious storm left as quickly and abruptly as it appeared, the cool night air a whisper against my skin. Soon, the temple looms to my right, its dark stone imposing, a beacon under the moon. The series of buildings to my left housed the Abbess’s and nuns’ chambers.
In the chilly, moist air, my breath turns into misty puffs reminiscent of a small dragon’s mist. Before me, a steady lantern beams in the moisture. Something about it tells me its constant light has never faltered, undiminished by rain or wind, as it serves as a guide to the convent on the mountainside. I envision parents filled with sorrow, secretly bringing and leaving their daughters under the very lantern where I, like a happy thief, am sneaking out beneath its light with joy.
Just a few more steps, and I can almost taste freedom—its sweetness is so close that it lingers on my tongue, along with something else: the scent of smoke. Why did the air here suddenly reek of smoke? Because something is burning; something is ablaze, and that baleful aroma drifts from where Yi Nuo is. The night explodes into brightness, takes on the reddish hue of an ember, and suddenly the silence is violently shattered by the shrill clamor of voices.
Fire!
Where is Abbess Mother?!
It looks like it’s the storage building!?
The nuns are rushing into the courtyard from every direction, robes flapping like startled pigeons. In the flickering light of the fire, they see me, and now, besides screaming about the fire, they scream with even more intensity about me.
Is that a man?!
There’s a man in the convent!
How can this be?!
A few more nuns spill out into the courtyard, spotting me with incredulous eyes as they join in the mad dash and add to the echoing cries of alarm. I am hopelessly trapped. Women are coming at me from all angles. I shouldn’t use magic with so many eyes on me, especially when doing so would draw more attention, but if any circumstance would warrant such a break of the rules, I feel this is one.
Unlike other clans that are cloud riders, we phoenixes are not, since we fly. However, even if I were to turn back into a bird, my arm would be useless and my attempts to escape would be equally futile, leaving me with only one option: to vanish. As the nuns close in on me, I attempt to use a disappearing spell to escape, but it fails. I try once more, and again, nothing happens.
Could it be my magic has been affected by my accident? Panic edges into desperation, which edges too close to dread. I have no other choice but to do what any brave, powerful man would do in my place. I drop to the ground, stiff as a board, and pretend to pass out. Before I do, I notice something unbelievable.
The redness in the sky has lifted as if by magic, the fire has gone out as if it never existed, and there isn’t a hint of smoke in the air.
Yi Nuo~
The young man appeared to be around my age, possibly slightly older, although it was difficult to tell for sure. He briefly sat up when they brought him in, winced in pain, and then lost consciousness again. Based on the oblong jade pendant at his waist, his luxurious silk attire, his clean and well-maintained fingernails, fair perfect complexion, long waist length thick hair more luxurious than most of the girls here, and the absence of calluses on his baby smooth hands and feet, it was clear he wasn’t accustomed to manual labor.
According to Ya Qi, his appearance showed he was a nobleman of considerable wealth.
How he came to be at the nunnery, which is hidden away from all, supposedly, not even the wildest of imaginations could surmise. That he was without shoes gave them all pause, though not as much as that he was here at all. Mother Abbess suspects that Ya Qi’s father left a servant behind who got lost, but if so, why didn’t the Marquis return when he noticed someone was missing? Ya Qi confirms he’s not a servant, yet he’s wounded, and I’m responsible for his care. It’s unglamorous and earns me no merit. The sisters are unnerved by his presence. Some saw a mysterious fire that never came to be when he was discovered, and others feared some miraculous impregnation by breathing the same air as him, but it’s my duty; I’m the closest thing to a physician here.
The convent wasn’t always as it is today. Long before my time, it was renowned for its female physicians. These women practiced medicine unburdened by societal constraints, as in some places women are forbidden from taking on such roles. The library’s basement holds shelves of hidden books, filled with detailed case records, diagnoses, and treatments. The texts are so ancient that the words are dust-covered, like forgotten histories. I know because I’ve read them all.
I have never lived like the other girls. The Abbess Mother hid me away as if I were a great pestilence that could destroy the world. While my sisters enjoyed the sunshine and played in the streams, I stayed behind to read. I have studied all the Great Buddha’s teachings in every language, including the original Magadha, and I have translated the ancient Sanskrit Sutras for the temple. No one taught me, as the nuns who once knew Sanskrit have long since passed away. I feel as if I was born with an understanding of these languages. After I memorized the sacred texts, I accidentally discovered medical books. I had followed a hurt little mouse into the basement to help it, and there, I found what felt like paradise—endless shelves of medical texts.
His shoulder hangs lower than it should, the joint dislocated and contorted, jutting with a painful awkwardness. I see from the way his ankle is wrapped that it has been recently injured, although nature is already at work to heal it. There is no sign of swelling or bluish bruising on the man’s forehead, and there is no apparent reason for his unconsciousness. Yet, he has not stirred, not so much as a flutter of his eyelids or a twitch of his fingers, since they deposited him here, far from the others in this vast and unused west wing of the temple. Yet, why does it feel like he’s faking?
“Yi Nuo, do you think he’ll survive?” The tremor in Ya Qi’s voice shifts the air between us, making her sound smaller, almost frightened. I have never heard her speak this way before. She’s nearly in tears over this stranger. Her attachment is sudden, even disturbing.
Master Zhiming has been placed like a silent guard outside the door for our protection. Among all my sisters, Ya Qi, who never cared about anyone or anything but herself, eagerly volunteered to assist me. Her offer was unexpected, but also necessary, since it would not be proper for me to be alone with him. Whether or not he’s conscious, there are rules we must follow.
Ya Qi wrings out the cloth soaked in cold water, her hands trembling slightly. She gingerly places it on his forehead, almost as if she fears harming him. “Whoever he is, he’s quite handsome. Perhaps the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.” She tilts her head, adjusting to align her face close to his, uncomfortably close for my liking, inspecting him with the curious intensity of a child or lustful young woman. “Come see. I’ve never seen a man with eyelashes this long.” Her fingers reached out to touch his lashes.
“Don’t get that close.” The words slip out sharp as I intend, edged with suspicion. I know he can hear me. “He has a terminal illness, and since he’s dying, I want to try my untested acupuncture on him.” I pause for effect, watching for any reaction. “Where’s my longest needle? I’ll unblock his meridian to free his Qi. Right between his eyebrows should work.”
“His eyes are open!” Ya Qi’s shriek fills the room, a sudden burst of surprise. Her eyes are wide, a spark of delight mingled with disbelief. “He is awake!”
Of course he is. As I thought, he was pretending. If not about his faint, then about something even more inscrutable. Nothing about this person struck me as genuine, not the silk in his garments nor the frailty in his appearance.
He groans, barely audible, yet filling the room like a proclamation. “I’m alive, but where am I?” His voice is an elegant whisper, its tone rich as the fabrics he wears, and so composed that it does not match his current state. “Who are you?”
“He’s wide awake.” Ya Qi claps her hands together, a quick fluttering motion. She beams at me, a wide grin spreading fast across her face.
“I knew he would be,” I say, a steady reply to match his artful groan, my words directed at the man more than Ya Qi. “What’s your name, and the last thing you remember?” I ask, suspecting he remembers more than he should. He replies, “I don’t remember my name. I don’t remember anything.”