visited. He brought his wife. She was sixteen years and of mixed blood—her mother from some frigid kingdom in the north, with hair so pale it was near white and eyes the color of warm seas.”
Ai Ling sneaked a glance toward Chen Yong. He was leaning forward, relaxed, captivated by the story.
“The Emperor executed this diplomat and took his wife.
105
Cindy Pon
He went mad over the woman. Convinced that she would be taken from him, he exiled her to a small island in the Sea of Zhen. He asked the powerful sorcerers of his court to shroud the island in mist so no one could find her. And the fish of Zhen were created, to kill any person who approached. They were given voice so they could call out a warning to the Emperor as well as report to him when he visited.
“But the Emperor was so delirious for her he neglected his duties, instead spending all his time on this hidden island.
When he finally returned to the Palace, he was poisoned by his closest adviser.”
“What happened to the beautiful woman?” Li Rong asked.
“She was forgotten. Left on the small island hidden in mist to die alone. A victim of her own beauty and the Emperor’s demented love for her,” Lao Pan said.
“Ah.” Li Rong sounded disappointed.
Ai Ling felt the same. This was no enchanted love story—
it was too tragic and real. She felt immediate sympathy for the woman, kept prisoner because of the Emperor’s deranged love. Why were women always seen as things to be possessed by men in these tales, never worth more than their physical beauty?
The seer clasped his hands together and stood, his golden robes shimmering before the flames. “Rest assured you can sleep in this courtyard in comfort and safety. It nears the 106
S I LV E R P H O E N I X
thieving hour. I think it best we all retire for the night and talk more tomorrow.”
Rui emerged from the house with three thin pallets. The tired travelers made their beds in a semicircle near the fire, like pack animals seeking warmth. The pallet was cozier than Ai Ling expected, and although she wanted to mull over everything that had happened that day, her exhausted body did not allow it. She fell asleep even before bidding a peaceful night to her companions.
107
C H A P T E R N I N E
Ai Ling woke with a start and sat straight up. The sky was a deep blue, and white wisps drifted past the jagged peaks encircling them. The whinnying of a horse had roused her. Her two travel companions had already risen. Li Rong tended to Feng while Chen Yong sat on the stone bench, his head bent over a book.
She stretched languidly and rolled her shoulders. Rui approached and asked if she would like to wash up inside.
Ai Ling followed the lanky boy into Lao Pan’s small house with its wooden porch and tall celadon-tiled roof.
Books lined the main room from floor to ceiling against two walls. A wooden ladder constructed of bamboo leaned 108
S I LV E R P H O E N I X
upon one, allowing access to books out of reach. Jars and boxes filled the third wall’s shelves. Most jars were clear, revealing their contents, but a few were murky or opaque.
The room smelled of dry herbs and the must of old books.
Lao Pan sat at a large black wooden table, the planks so worn it shone. He studied a thick tome, oblivious to their entrance.
Rui guided her past a small kitchen into a rudimentary washroom at the back of the house. He pointed to the ceramic basin and the narrow back door, which led to a well if she needed more water. Ai Ling quickly washed her face and rubbed her teeth with the coarse salt provided in a gourd-shaped bowl. She rummaged for her wooden comb, looked around the cramped washroom and saw no mirror.
It was too much to hope for. She ran the comb through her hair. She wondered what Lao Pan would tell her. She plaited her hair with deft fingers and walked back to the main room.
This time, Lao Pan raised his head. He smiled at her, the lines deepening in his gaunt, sun-browned face. “Ah,
Ai Ling sneaked a glance toward Chen Yong. He was leaning forward, relaxed, captivated by the story.
“The Emperor executed this diplomat and took his wife.
105
Cindy Pon
He went mad over the woman. Convinced that she would be taken from him, he exiled her to a small island in the Sea of Zhen. He asked the powerful sorcerers of his court to shroud the island in mist so no one could find her. And the fish of Zhen were created, to kill any person who approached. They were given voice so they could call out a warning to the Emperor as well as report to him when he visited.
“But the Emperor was so delirious for her he neglected his duties, instead spending all his time on this hidden island.
When he finally returned to the Palace, he was poisoned by his closest adviser.”
“What happened to the beautiful woman?” Li Rong asked.
“She was forgotten. Left on the small island hidden in mist to die alone. A victim of her own beauty and the Emperor’s demented love for her,” Lao Pan said.
“Ah.” Li Rong sounded disappointed.
Ai Ling felt the same. This was no enchanted love story—
it was too tragic and real. She felt immediate sympathy for the woman, kept prisoner because of the Emperor’s deranged love. Why were women always seen as things to be possessed by men in these tales, never worth more than their physical beauty?
The seer clasped his hands together and stood, his golden robes shimmering before the flames. “Rest assured you can sleep in this courtyard in comfort and safety. It nears the 106
S I LV E R P H O E N I X
thieving hour. I think it best we all retire for the night and talk more tomorrow.”
Rui emerged from the house with three thin pallets. The tired travelers made their beds in a semicircle near the fire, like pack animals seeking warmth. The pallet was cozier than Ai Ling expected, and although she wanted to mull over everything that had happened that day, her exhausted body did not allow it. She fell asleep even before bidding a peaceful night to her companions.
107
C H A P T E R N I N E
Ai Ling woke with a start and sat straight up. The sky was a deep blue, and white wisps drifted past the jagged peaks encircling them. The whinnying of a horse had roused her. Her two travel companions had already risen. Li Rong tended to Feng while Chen Yong sat on the stone bench, his head bent over a book.
She stretched languidly and rolled her shoulders. Rui approached and asked if she would like to wash up inside.
Ai Ling followed the lanky boy into Lao Pan’s small house with its wooden porch and tall celadon-tiled roof.
Books lined the main room from floor to ceiling against two walls. A wooden ladder constructed of bamboo leaned 108
S I LV E R P H O E N I X
upon one, allowing access to books out of reach. Jars and boxes filled the third wall’s shelves. Most jars were clear, revealing their contents, but a few were murky or opaque.
The room smelled of dry herbs and the must of old books.
Lao Pan sat at a large black wooden table, the planks so worn it shone. He studied a thick tome, oblivious to their entrance.
Rui guided her past a small kitchen into a rudimentary washroom at the back of the house. He pointed to the ceramic basin and the narrow back door, which led to a well if she needed more water. Ai Ling quickly washed her face and rubbed her teeth with the coarse salt provided in a gourd-shaped bowl. She rummaged for her wooden comb, looked around the cramped washroom and saw no mirror.
It was too much to hope for. She ran the comb through her hair. She wondered what Lao Pan would tell her. She plaited her hair with deft fingers and walked back to the main room.
This time, Lao Pan raised his head. He smiled at her, the lines deepening in his gaunt, sun-browned face. “Ah,
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