The Matriarch sneers. Feng really must be her granddaughter, for the resemblance they share is uncanny. “Hold yer tongue, stranger. We don’t take kindly to Northern spies.”
“I’m no spy,” I insist. “I may be from the North, but I’m just a humble teahouse owner, nothing more.”
Feng groans. “Leaf water? Disgusting.”
I ignore her comment. “Please, madam, a night’s rest is all we ask. We’ll be gone by sunrise.”
“What’s this ‘we’ business ye keep yappin’ about?”
I wave Feng off, keeping my gaze locked on the Matriarch. It goes without question that a night spent out in the middle of the jungle is rife with dangers. If fei and dragons are indeed real, what other horrendous beasts await us out there in the dark?
The Matriarch remains silent in contemplation. She doesn’t strike me as an unreasonable person. I’m proven right when she says, “Use the abandoned hut at the edge of the village. No one’ll speak to ye, no one’ll help ye. Begone at first light.”
The villagers disperse without a word, though that doesn’t stop a few of them from spitting at our feet. Feng doesn’t react. Instead, she stands a little taller, her head held high and her chest proud. It’s only once everyone has left that she stomps off.
“With me, Leaf Water,” she calls.
The hut in question is in a state of grotesque disrepair. The walls are cracked, the thatched roof full of holes. It’s no small wonder that it remains standing. I sit gingerly on a bamboo cot in the corner. Feng seems unbothered, both by the terrible conditions and her poor treatment in the village.
Her presence almost feels too expansive and grand to reside in this tiny abode, even for a night. Feng moves about the space with familiarity, easily navigating around low furniture in the dark. My suspicions are further raised when she stops precisely over one wooden floorboard, crouches, and lifts it to reveal a hidden cache of ointments and medicinal preserves. After a moment of rummaging, she tosses me a small clay jar.
“Poultice for yer wound. Change it before ye sleep.”
I tilt my head to the side in curiosity. “Is this place yours?”
“My parents’,” she answers, though her tone is clipped.
“And where are they now—”
“I’ll leave before ye tomorrow,” Feng interrupts. “The villagers’ll be more inclined to feed ye once I’m gone.”
“We’re parting ways?”
“I’ve got a dragon t’ hunt. Yesterday was the first time I caught a glimpse of it in ages. I need t’ get after it, and yer only deadweight.”
I shift uncomfortably upon my bed of straw. “What did the Matriarch mean before? About raining down wrath and dishonor?”
Feng snorts. “Idiots, the lot of them. My people think them beasts Gods.”
“And you don’t?”
“Gods don’t bleed. They can’t be harmed, but I’ve harmed it. It’s proof.”
Strangely, I find logic in her reasoning. I lean back against the wall, taking in Feng’s face in the moonlight. She’s nothing but rough edges and sharp corners, a fearsome warrior from head to toe.
“Just because youcanharm the beast doesn’t mean you should,” I insist. “Perhaps your people have a point.”
“Rocks for brains is what they have,” she snaps. “D’ye have any idea the name I could make for myself? Just imagine it: Feng, the Dragon Slayer!”
I furrow my brows. “It’s fame you’re after, then?”
“Not just that, but fortune, too. Did ye know they used to sell dragon bones fer jewelry? Their scales for medicine? That kinda money could feed the whole village for years.”
My breath catches at the mention of dragon scales. “How interesting.”
Feng nods. “They’ll see. One day soon, they’ll all see how wrong they were.”
“So you would kill it even if it were the last of its kind?”
