Silver Phoenix (26 page)

Ai Ling approached a stalk as thick as a man’s calf. She ran her fingers over the ridges of its divided sections, the shell hard and smooth. Fading light filtered from above, illuminating the regal bamboo shafts that spanned as far as her eye could see. The air was cool, and she was grateful for the shade.

“This is magnificent,” Li Rong said, his face turned upward.

“Bamboo is one of my favorite subjects to paint,” Ai Ling said as they ventured deeper into the grove. A calm settled over her, a contentment to be traveling with good companions, a sense of freedom, a joy and wonder at being alive.

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“You paint?” Chen Yong cocked his head, studying her with interest.

“It’s always been a part of my studies. Writing calligraphy is like painting in a way.”

“You can write?” Chen Yong asked, but it came forth more like a statement of amazement.

“My father was a top scholar in the Emperor’s court,” she said, her tone sharper than she intended. “And it may not be common, but yes, women, just like men, can learn to read and write if they are taught.”

Two spots of color flared on Chen Yong’s cheekbones.

“I didn’t mean to offend, Ai Ling. I’m traditional in many respects, but I never did understand why girls weren’t taught the language like the boys. My sister was taught how to spar, but not how to read or write.”

“I don’t think An Xue would have been interested anyway,” Li Rong said, chuckling.

“I’d like to see your paintings someday.” Chen Yong moved to stand beside her. Her scalp tingled from his nearness. He turned toward her, lips curved in a smile, and Ai Ling for-gave him everything—much to her own chagrin.

“Chen Yong enjoys painting as well,” Li Rong said.

“I’m not very good,” she said.

“Me neither.” Chen Yong tapped on one of the sturdy bamboo stalks with his knuckles. The sound came back solid and strong.

They made camp in a small clearing surrounded by the 140

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majestic sentinels. The forest was aptly named, as the bamboo did remind her of those standing guard. Ai Ling felt safe. They gathered broken stalks and twigs, and Chen Yong started a blaze with an oval striker and flint. They clustered around the fire and dined on dried beef, papaya, nuts, and salted biscuits. Ai Ling fished out a fresh apple and pear to share, slicing the fruits with her sharp dagger.

She could not help but think of where the blade had been previously, jutting out of the powerful neck of the serpent demon. The pungent scent of burned flesh returned to haunt her. She did not eat any of the fruit and passed it to the brothers to enjoy. Chen Yong brewed tea for them, always a comfort.

“So what’s so special about you, Ai Ling?” Li Rong asked, breaking the contented silence after their meal.

He sat hunched by the fi re, sharpening a long, thin bamboo stalk with a small knife, honing the end to a dangerous point.

“What do you mean?” She had been sketching the bamboo in her book and paused before speaking, annoyed by the interruption—perturbed by the question.

“We all saw the lunar telling sticks stand on end,” Li Rong said.

Chen Yong sat with his elbows propped easily on raised knees, gazing into the fire. Li Rong grinned and winked at her, continuing to whittle away.

“I think there may be a spirit that protects me . . . inside 141

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this pendant,” she said finally, raising her hand to the cool jade lying against her breast.

“I’ve seen her pendant glow,” Chen Yong said to Li Rong.

“But why didn’t it work against the serpent demon, Ai Ling?”

His face did not appear as taut as it had that morning; perhaps he too felt the peacefulness amid the bamboo.

“Maybe because I wasn’t under direct attack?” Ai Ling shook her head. “I don’t know how it works, but it has saved me several times since I began this journey.”

“Who gave it to you?” Li Rong asked.

“My father did.” She paused. “I also seem to have this . . .

ability.”

Both brothers turned to her; Li Rong’s expression one of amusement, Chen Yong’s pensive. “You mean the ability to steal the hearts of all men who lay eyes on you?” Li Rong asked, pressing a palm to his chest.

She twisted her mouth and ignored his comment. “I think I can enter others’ bodies . . .” She did not know how to explain herself.

“Sounds rather—” Li Rong was interrupted by a thump on the shoulder from his brother.

Ai Ling drew a deep breath. “I think I can delve into other people’s spirits.” She lifted her face to see their reactions.

Li Rong had tucked his chin in surprise, his mouth slack.

Chen Yong leaned toward her. “Can you explain?” he asked.

“Better yet, why not demonstrate?” Li Rong added.

“You mock me,” she said, feeling her anger rise.

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“Not at all. Delve into me, it’d be a pleasure.” One corner of Li Rong’s mouth slanted upward, his dark eyes twinkling.

She’d show him. “Think something. I can hear your thoughts when I’m within your spirit.”

“Will I feel anything?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “You tell me.”

Li Rong sat straight, crossing his legs in front of him. Ai Ling ignored the weight of Chen Yong’s gaze and concentrated on the invisible cord within her navel. She cast it forward, felt the irresistible tug, and entered Li Rong’s spirit.

Where Chen Yong was coiled with strength, Li Rong was loose, relaxed. Yet a power and vigor still dwelled in his limbs, an energy that could be summoned in a heartbeat.

His hearing was sharper than hers, and Ai Ling heard the rustling of leaves far above, along with the quiet chirping of bugs which she had not noticed with her own ears.

She quieted her mind and listened to his.

Think of something . . . think. This is silly. I feel silly. Only for you,
Ai Ling. When are you going to kiss me? That’s a thought. When will
I get my kiss?

His amusement bubbled and rose to her. Ai Ling would have shaken her head if she could, but instead she released her hold, relaxed, and drew back into her own body with a hard snap.

“How long will this take?” Li Rong asked.

“I’m done.”

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“Already? I didn’t feel a thing.”

Ai Ling put her brow against her knee, feeling woozy.

Chen Yong leaned forward to fill her teacup, and she lifted it to her lips with a trembling hand. The warm brew steadied her, the scent of the tea leaves sharpening her senses.

“Did it work? What was I thinking?” Li Rong asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and impatience.

“You wondered when we would kiss,” she said, attempting to hide her face in the tiny teacup.

Chen Yong threw his head back and laughed, slapping his palms together.

Li Rong nearly rose to his feet. “That’s an easy guess! You guessed.”

“You also have an ache in your right shoulder. Perhaps it’s bruised from the serpent demon or from sparring yesterday.

Your left ankle is scraped. It smarts and bothers you.”

Chen Yong stopped laughing, and Li Rong opened and closed his mouth. Both young men stared at her as if she’d sprouted a second head.

“Is this true, Li Rong?” Chen Yong asked.

His brother nodded without speaking. The crackle of the fire emphasized the long moments of silence. Ai Ling fought the urge to curl up and hide. Had it been a mistake to share her strange ability with them? They were only just beginning to feel comfortable together—becoming friends. How would they see her now?

“I can’t believe it,” Li Rong fi nally said.

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“How did I look?” she asked, curiosity overriding her discomfort.

“Quiet. Like you were meditating,” Chen Yong said.

“Try it on Chen Yong,” Li Rong said.

Chen Yong leaned back. “No, thanks.”

“How do you know she hasn’t already? I didn’t feel a thing,” Li Rong said. “It’s like spiritual rape, and no one would know.”

Ai Ling blanched. She dug her nails into her palms.

“Ai Ling wouldn’t do that,” Chen Yong said in a quiet voice. “Mind your words, Li Rong.”

Her neck grew hot. Chen Yong defended her when she had done exactly as his brother accused. She decided in that moment that she would never enter Chen Yong’s spirit again. An instant sense of regret filled her. She remembered his dream, the ache and longing for a love lost, for something that could never be.