“I happen to be a healer of sorts,” I say. “With your permission, might I hold her for a moment?”
The woman frowns slightly, her hesitation not unwarranted. She gestures with a hand to the free space on the log, inviting me over. We sit together as she carefully hands the child to me.
The crying stops at once.
The little girl peers up at me with big brown eyes. There are dazzling specks of green around the edges, as beautiful and brilliant as emeralds. She manages to wriggle one of her arms free of the blankets, exposing her thread-bearing hand.
We are connected.
I cannot help but laugh as she laughs, joy radiating over our bond.
“Amazing,” her mother breathes, her eyes wide with pleasant surprise. “Goodness, how is this possible? She hasn’t stopped crying since her first breath!”
I shrug a shoulder, keeping my hold on the child as tender and careful as possible. “Have you any goat’s milk?” I ask.
“That I do.”
“Mix in a small amount of honey and soak a clean cloth in the mixture. It will tide her over until she learns to suckle.”
The woman hurries inside, keeping an eye on me through the small window of her home as she diligently gathers the ingredients.She returns with the soaked cloth and hands it to me, then takes her seat at my side to watch everything unfold. I bring the cloth to the child’s lips. She whines softly before finally opening her mouth and hungrily sucking up the milk and honey.
Her mother gasps. Tears of happiness well in her eyes. “You’re a miracle worker. Pray tell, what’s your name, good sir?”
“Sai,” I answer.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sai. I’m Luobing.”
“And the little one? What’s her name?”
“In all honesty, my husband and I are still struggling to come to an agreement on what we should call her.” The woman shifts in her seat. “Tell me, dear sir. What would your suggestion be?”
“You would have me pick her name?”
“I was in dire straits before you happened along. It seems that you have the right instinct.”
The little girl in my arms coos, staring up at me with wide eyes. She mirrors my smile, her free hand reaching out toward me with a flex of her little fingers.
“As luck would have it,” I say, “I have the perfect name in mind.”
46
Twenty years come and go.
I have settled on a small plot of land in the rolling hills north of Jiaoshan. It’s surrounded by towering trees and bisected by a winding river full of enough fish to keep me fed year-round. I built my home by hand, digging the foundation into the earth and diligently setting each one of the roof’s glazed tiles. My humble shack stands alone against the backdrop of trees, solitary and proud atop a steep hill.
I visit the markets every now and then to restock on supplies and to check up on the teahouse. Business has flourished. People come far and wide to taste A-Ma’s baked goods. They say she makes the best red-bean buns in all the land. The teahouse is self-sufficient at this point, a whole team of servers and cooks working throughout the day to fill the bellies of paying customers. As much as I enjoy visiting my mother, who is completely healthy thanks to a good dose of dragon scales all those years back, I find quiet pleasure in my solitude, too.
It’s just as well. I’d overheard the curious whispers and suspicious rumblings as I passed through town over the years. Comments about my miraculous lack of aging grew more and morefrequent. I chalked it up to a healthy diet and the medicinal properties of tea, but my crafty lies and easy charm were eventually not enough to explain my lack of wrinkles, sunspots, or even graying strands of hair.
It seems that I am forever stuck at five and twenty—amortal.
I suppose dragons age slowly once we’ve reached maturity, Jyn once told me. To the human eye, it looks as though time has stopped altogether.
There’s peace to be found out here. I spend my days tending to my vegetable garden or feeding the gentle critters of the forest. Every now and then, a traveler will show up at my front door requesting an audience with the Thread-Seeker. I help them if I’m able, though my heart rarely has the will for such a journey. Where the coupling of a fated pair once brought me endless joy, it now serves as a reminder of what I have lost.
Though hopefully, soon, my darling one will return to me once again.
My mornings begin at the crack of dawn with the call of the rooster I keep in an outdoor pen. I feed the chickens before cutting up the next day’s firewood, and then promptly get to cooking a hearty, filling meal of steamed eggs, green onions, and fluffy white rice.
