“You’re an animal. A filthy beast,” she’d moaned. “You make me wild.”
She was not wrong, Wei thought starkly. He was no better than a beast. Perhaps that was why he’d never be the good son his baba deserved. Why he’d failed the examinations and dishonored his family. Why he was addicted to the taste of Chun, the feel of her, and all the dirty things they did under the cover of darkness.
He reached his home, a single-story building with a walled courtyard perched at the highest point of the cliffs. Baba had chosen it so that he could scout for clandestine opium vessels docking in the coves below. Ironically, the only smuggling going on tonight was the captain’s son trying to get back into the house unnoticed.
Moving stealthily along the perimeter of the wall, Wei found the lowest point. The top stones had crumbled, leaving the partition about three times his height.
If I had proper training in kung fu, this wall would be no barrier, Wei thought bitterly.
While academics had a sedative effect upon Wei, martial arts awakened his appetite for learning. His family had never stayed in one place long enough for him to train with a shifu, but he’d picked up techniques here and there. He wanted to be a fighter…maybe a soldier like his father. When he’d told his baba of his desire, the captain had given him a stern lecture.
“You will obey me and become a scholar. You must show filial respect, set a good example for your younger sister. Bring the family honor, and do not fail again.”
It was how every conversation with Baba went.
No negotiation. No room for personal desires. Nothing but duty, duty, duty.
Clenching his jaw, Wei gazed up at the wall. I can handle this.
In the village his family had lived in prior to this one, there’d been a shifu who taught a technique known as “qing gong” or “lightness kung fu.” The method emphasized agility and speed, resulting in a seeming ability to defy gravity itself. The shifu had given Wei a few tips, and Wei had practiced ever since.
Ling Ling had begged him to teach her as well.
“When you’re older,” he’d told his mei mei, tugging on one of her pigtails.
His irrepressible little sister had stuck her tongue out at him. Yet that hadn’t stopped her from keeping him company as he trained, whooping and cheering as he’d learned to scale trees and walls of increasing height.
The memory made Wei grin. Backing up, he took a running start, pairing his muscles and breath to maximize the lightness of movement. The soles of his shoes whispered against stone as he swiftly ascended the vertical surface. He’d almost reached the top when he made the mistake of looking down—and the distraction cost him.
He slipped backward, flailing, one hand managing to grab the top of the wall. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself up and swung over the edge. At least his landing in the courtyard was soft, his queue swishing behind him.
Wei straightened, his senses on sudden alert. The windchimes his mother hung to ward away hostile spirits tinkled eerily. Shadows shrouded the courtyard, broken here and there by shards of moonlight. As he wondered why the lanterns were out, a figure exploded from the darkness and barreled into him. He sprawled onto his back, the newcomer leaping atop. In the next heartbeat, a blade arced toward his face. He reached out, grabbing the assailant’s wrist as the glinting tip hovered above his throat.
The attacker pushed downward; Wei resisted with equal force.
While the other was heavier and had the upper position, Wei was stronger. He glimpsed pale eyes in the holes of the attacker’s mask as he shoved the knife away from his throat. He gave his foe’s wrist a sharp twist that made the bastard mutter, “Bloody hell!” and drop the blade, which skittered across the stones.
Wei threw off his foe, handspringing to his feet. The enemy recovered with equal speed and charged again. Wei dodged the blow, delivering a palm strike to the man’s solar plexus. The barbarian stumbled back, and Wei attacked, going in with a barrage of punches and kicks. He grabbed the man’s arm; the man wrenched away, leaving Wei with a handful of fabric and a glimpse of inked vines crawling up the other’s forearm.
The man suddenly dove to the ground—the knife. Wei ran over, and the bastard jumped up, throwing gravel into Wei’s eyes. Momentarily blinded, Wei leapt back instinctively, heard the whoosh of steel cutting through the air. Hot pain sliced across his shoulder, but he reacted with a high kick. The man cursed as the knife went flying, clattering in the distance.
His vision blurry and eyes burning, Wei held his fists up, ready for more…but his foe’s footsteps pounded away in the opposite direction. The coward was retreating like a cur with its tail between its legs. Wei considered following, but a new fear drummed in his chest.
Ling Ling, Mama—I must make sure they are all right.
He raced out of the courtyard into the central hall. The air was heavy with incense from the ancestral altar, the darkness too thick for him to see. As Wei headed to the altar to find matches, he tripped, barely catching himself. Grabbing the matches, he lit one to see what had caused him to fall…and his heart slammed into his ribs.
Old Wong, the servant who’d been with his family since he was a boy. Who’d tended to Wei’s scrapes and secretly given him salty dried plums after each beating and lecture he’d received from Baba. Old Wong, who was as wrinkled as a shar-pei dog…and who now stared blankly up at Wei, his throat sliced from ear to ear.
Wei covered the old retainer’s eyes with a shaking hand.
Then he raced to his family’s chambers, shouting their names.
One
London, 1851
“I can handle this evening on my own,” Lady Glory Cavendish declared.
