Silver Phoenix (22 page)

“It is my pleasure to help those who need it.” Lao Pan bowed and disappeared into the house.

The three companions sat under the starfruit tree in silence. Finally, Chen Yong let out a low whistle. “It seems even the Immortals cast an eye on you from the heavens, Ai Ling.”

Chen Yong’s comment broke her reverie. There was too much to think about—too much she couldn’t comprehend.

“I just want to bring Father home.”

Chen Yong studied her, then nodded in understanding.

Li Rong cleared his throat. “It’ll be a while before Lao Pan is done with his incense waving and strange mutterings.

How about you and I do a little sparring?”

Chen Yong grinned. “I haven’t beaten you enough?”

“The presence of a beautiful woman”—Li Rong bowed toward Ai Ling—“will inspire me to fi ght harder.”

She pretended not to hear him, but the now-familiar heat crept from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. Ai Ling pulled out her small sketchbook as a distraction. She could sketch Feng and use it as reference for a horse painting someday.

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Chen Yong laughed. “Come on, then. This space is perfect.”

She had never seen sparring before and did not know anyone who practiced shuen. She couldn’t decide whether to continue the guise of drawing or simply put down the sketchbook and watch.

The two brothers faced each other in the oblong courtyard, warming up with some kicks and punches. Li Rong shook himself vigorously, like a wet dog, and she giggled into her drawing.

“Nothing but applause, please, lovely lady. Kisses are welcome as well.” Li Rong winked at her with a wide grin. She was unable to pretend she hadn’t heard this time.

Chen Yong coughed, which sounded suspiciously like a snort.

“Ready, old brother,” Li Rong said.

They took a wide stance, their hands raised in loose fists in front of their torsos. Li Rong dropped to the ground and swept his leg out in an arc, kicking dust in the air. His brother simply danced out of the way.

“You’re too slow to use that for your first attack.” As he said this, Chen Yong jabbed one hand out toward Li Rong’s chest, which Li Rong struck out of the way with his forearm at the last moment.

“You’ve been practicing,” Chen Yong said.

Li Rong responded by punching him in the chest. But Chen Yong spun and vaulted, landing behind him. Ai Ling blinked, her sketchbook in her lap now, watching with open 115

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fascination. Chen Yong’s hand darted like a viper and hit Li Rong in the lower back. She heard Li Rong grunt as he sprang on one hand and somersaulted out of the way.

The brothers circled, staring with unblinking eyes. Sweat glistened on their brows.

“I didn’t hit with full force, little brother.”

“I’m not six years still.” Li Rong ended the sentence with a kick to Chen Yong’s chest, accompanied by an exhalation of air that became a gruff yell. The next thing Ai Ling knew, Li Rong was on the dirt ground, with Chen Yong towering over him.

“You let pride distract you.” He offered Li Rong a hand.

Li Rong did not take it, but leaped to his feet in one fluid motion. He loosened the sash on his tunic and shrugged it off, rolling his shoulders. He took the open sparring stance again.

Chen Yong turned to face him, and Li Rong met his gaze with a resolute intensity. Chen Yong untied the sash around his own tunic and tossed it to the side. Li Rong’s frame was taut, wiry. Chen Yong was broader, his muscles dense and powerful.

Ai Ling gnawed her lower lip as she watched, the morning light glistening off of their slick bodies. Maybe it was time to start sketching Feng again, or the starfruit blossom.

Instead, she admired the lithe forms of the two brothers as they danced around each other, kicking up dirt, limbs flashing so fast in combinations she was not sure she even 116

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saw. There was no sound but their heavy breathing and the scuffl e of their feet.

The sun crawled overhead. She felt the sweat collect on her own brow and wished for a drink. But she did not stir from the bench.

Chen Yong suddenly thrust forward as if to punch Li Rong in the face, but instead he brought a leg up and kicked him square in the chest. Li Rong doubled over with an audible grunt and fell to his knees.

“No, you certainly aren’t six years anymore,” Chen Yong said.

Li Rong squinted up at him. Chen Yong offered his hand a second time. “You’ve improved tremendously. You kept your concentration and cast away your emotions.” The admiration was clear in his voice. Li Rong took his hand this time.

The two brothers bowed low to each other, one hand clasped over a closed fi st.

“Thank you, Chen Yong.”

Ai Ling could see the respect Li Rong held for his older brother, even if they teased each other constantly. Li Rong tugged his tunic back on and wiped the sweat from his face with one sleeve. He then disappeared behind the house, where the well and washroom were located, and emerged not long after, looking refreshed, but still a bit fl ushed.

Li Rong joined her at the stone bench. “May I?”

They both watched Chen Yong go through his forms, 117

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bounding into the air with grace and executing kicks and punches that made him look as if he were fl ying.

“You accompanied Chen Yong to see Master Tan?” Li Rong asked.

“He asked me to.”

He turned and tilted his face. “To be truthful, I’m surprised.

He must trust you. It hasn’t been easy for Chen Yong, being half foreign. He’s always on guard.”

Ai Ling recalled the insults and scrutiny he had endured as he searched for Master Tan.

“I urged that I should go with him on this journey. I offered many times, but he refused. He’s so stubborn. He said he had to do this alone. You reached him, somehow.”

Ai Ling’s heart soared, and she furrowed her brow to disguise her pleasure. “Chen Yong told me he was adopted.”

“My parents took him in when my eldest brother, Tian Ren, was just one year. Father insisted. But my mother was always partial to her firstborn and the son of her own blood.”

Li Rong sighed, a seriousness passing over his roguish features. “She treated Chen Yong well enough but, in the end, insisted on arranging a marriage between my eldest brother and Chen Yong’s childhood love.”

Ai Ling glanced at Chen Yong, who continued through his forms, oblivious to all else. His face was serene, but she could hear his breath quicken with each movement. Did Chen Yong love this girl still?

“I didn’t know,” she said, her mood heavy now.

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“He doesn’t talk about it with anyone. It only made him more withdrawn,” Li Rong said.

“And this childhood love . . . ?” Ai Ling felt compelled to ask. Was she beautiful, accomplished, and elegant? She looked away, trying to mask her interest.

“She loved Chen Yong as well,” Li Rong said.

Of course she did.

“But she was the best match for the family, and Mother made sure that she married Tian Ren—her favorite. No one else had a say in it.” He spoke quietly as he watched his brother. “Chen Yong was devastated. He tried not to let it show. But I know him well enough to know he suffered.”

Ai Ling stared at her hands. “That’s so sad.”

“Ah, who weds for love anyway? We’re bound by what our parents dictate when it comes to marriage.”

Her stomach twisted. “My parents wed out of love,” she said, surprised by her own vehemence.

“That’s a rarity, isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand why it has to be. And Chen Yong is here because his parents were in love.”

Li Rong scuffed the ground with his shoe. “I guess that’s one way of seeing it. But out of love, they only managed to be selfish and create scandal, defying an entire empire for their own desires.” Li Rong looked toward his brother. “Not that I would or could ever imagine life without him. I just wonder what Chen Yong himself would have chosen, if he could.”

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Ai Ling also turned her gaze toward Chen Yong. She didn’t have an answer.

Li Rong slapped his thighs with open palms. “I think I’ve lost enough face today. It gives me incentive to practice harder and win back my honor.” He shook his fist in the air, a look of determination on his handsome, boyish face.