“Guess I’ll just wait here by myself,” Yiran muttered.
Sensing his dejection, Rui let go of Zizi’s hand and backtracked. “We won’t take long. Maybe you should call Ash and let him know where you are, get ahead of things in case she calls your grandfather.”
Yiran shrugged and walked in the opposite direction.
Rui hurried after Zizi and his grandmother. Several turns later, they came to a large room. Glass jars and metal tea tins lined the tall shelves, each meticulously labeled in neat script. Various teapots rested on the long table at one end of the room.
Rui and Zizi waited on the bench as Madam Meng perused the shelves. A tiny bell tinkled. Something black pounced onto Zizi’s lap and curled up.
“Mao! How’d you get here?” Rui reached over to scratch the cat’s chin.
Absently, Zizi played with Mao’s soft ears. He was quiet, his eyes wide and curious as he waited. Rui imagined this was how he must’ve spent his days as a child, wandering around this old and rambling estate thick with magic, poking his nose into this and that, experimenting with spells and artifacts to satiate his thirst for knowledge.
Armed with an assortment of tins, Madam Meng got down to work. She dusted loose tea leaves into a gaiwan, then tapped on the wooden dragon carved onto the curve of her walking cane. The dragon spat out a puff of pink powder. Rui wanted to ask what it was, but the whole process felt like a ritual she didn’t want to interrupt.
After pouring hot water into the gaiwan, Madam Meng capped it with its matching porcelain lid. As the tea steeped, she examined the black lines on Zizi’s hands.
“Do you know what they are?” Rui asked.
Madam Meng ignored her.
Zizi held Mao a little closer. “Is it bad?”
“We will speak of the markings later.” Madam Meng picked the gaiwan up, holding the lid and cup expertly as she poured, allowing only tea to escape into another smaller cup. “Drink.”
Zizi stuck his tongue into the liquid and retracted it with a grimace.
Madam Meng tutted. “You kick up a fuss like a child every time you have to take your medicine.”
“Because it tastes bitter every time, and this one’s particularly vile.”
“It is only by knowing what is bitter that you will treasure what is sweet.”
“I’ve no problem treasuring what is sweet without ever tasting anything bitter.” Zizi downed the tea in a single gulp. He grimaced and gagged.
“Now, you must rest. Leave us,” Madam Meng said. “I believe the girl would like a word with me.”
How did she know? There was clearly more to the old lady than Rui had thought.
Zizi paused at the door, throwing them a cloaked look before stepping out.
“How did you know I wanted to speak with you?” Rui said.
“An Exorcist-in-training wandering around the Night Market looking for a mage? Word gets around.”
“Zizi’s a mage, and I hang out with him. It’s not unusual for me to talk to mages.”
Madam Meng removed her glasses. The change was startling, like she had removed a piece of her face, leaving it blank and unsettling. “Then why didn’t you go to him first? What are you looking for?”
Rui fidgeted under Madam Meng’s scrutiny, torn between the desperate need to ask for help and Ten’s command of secrecy. “It’s a who and a what,” she finally said. “I’m looking for someone who doesn’t want to be found. An unusual person, who came into this world through unusual circumstances.”
“And thewhat?”
“Something that can contain... things.”
Madam Meng raised an elegant eyebrow. “Vagueness gets you nowhere. Spit it out if you want my help, child.”
“I... I can’t.”
