I eat atoo seeroll, the sweet vanilla conjuring happier times, making me feel lighter, less weighed down by my past horrors and present predicament. Next, I unwrap the salted caramel. A tiny cube in my palm. All of Niang Niang’s palace is made of silkwood, highly polished so she can admire her reflection from any angle. I roll the caramel in my palm. It is a perfect match in colour. I imagine every pavilion made not of wood, but of cubes of caramel stacked together. It makes me giggle.
The sense of helplessness retreats a little, so I eat another. Mr Lee’s candies seem to be fortifying me. Or maybe it’s just the memory of his kindness. Duty or not, hewaskind. As was Gigi. Mr Lee was right. I do lie to myself all the time. Better to pretend I don’t care than to admit I do and risk rejection. And now, here I am, stuck in Turquoise Hills on this Tian-forsaken pavilion. I unwrap the rest of the candies and shove them in my mouth all at once. As I chew, I pull myself into the meditative kneeling position that Bullhead said always helped him to think.
Effort makes the mind.
I bring my focus inwards, contemplating the shards of memory. I piece them together to form a mirror of sorts, to show me my childhood, and to reflect back to me who I am now. In a flash of clarity I am certain of three truths.
One: I am no longer a frightened child and I will allow no one to treat me as such.
Two: My vampire ancestry saved my life. While I cannot summon affection for a baba who abandoned me, I will honour him for the inherited strengths which contribute to who I am.
And who am I? That brings me to three: I am Grand Princess Overflowing with Sagacity, Noble Lady Hu Xian Jing of the Turquoise Hills, Lady Jing of Mount Kunlun, whether others like it or not.
I shuffle carefully to the edge of the pavilion, one eye on the sentries and ignore the woozy feeling threatening to capsize my insides. Instead, I feel along the sides of the pavilion edge until I find cool hard metal and pull. The bright gold chain, still gleaming after all these years, emerges link by link from the depths of the water, until the green-crusted golden dome of the cage crests the surface and breaks free. I keep it half submerged so the sentries can’t see what I’m doing if they bother to look.
Rain soaks my hair, drips down my face, but for once, the nausea crawling up my throat has nothing to do with the water. I cannot stop staring at the cage. It’s smaller than I remember. The golden bars are half-coated in algae. The door is missing – twisted metal where the hinges once were. Ripped off, maybe. DidIdo that? I sift through my memories, but nothing surfaces. The thing looks utterly ordinary.
And it’s that, more than anything, which ignites the sour hot rage scorching through me. Soo’s vile face looms in my mind. My hands tighten on the cage, trembling with my need for revenge. The bar in my fist breaks free with a loud snap. I stare at it, then glance over my shoulder at the sentries. They look around, as if searching for the sound.Shit sticks. I lie still on the floor, arms dangling over the water, the cage in one hand, and a long golden bar in the other, praying they don’t investigate. After a moment, they settle back into position, postures more alert than before.
The freed bar gives me an idea. If I take the cage apart, I can twist the bars together and make a chain whip staff. A weapon. But the noise would draw the sentries’ attention. The rain hits the half-submerged cage with a softpat pat pat.I push the cage wholly under water, and thepat pat patceases.Checking over my shoulder, I place the first bar on the floor, using my body to hide it from view. With the cage under water, I snap off bar after bar, feeling stronger and freer and angrier with each one. Before I know it, I’ve freed all the bars. I drop the bottom of the cage into the lake. Only the top is left, attached to the pavilion by the chain.
I am bedraggled and my clothes are soaked from the rain. And yet a fire blazes inside me that lends me strength. With a sharp yank, the cage comes free from the chain. I let the curved dome of the cage sink to the bottom of the lake. The other end of the chain is still attached to a joist in the pavilion, well clear of the water. I can’t free it without an almighty crack from the wood. The sound would surely draw the guards’ attention.
Just then, lightning flashes across the sky followed by a clap of thunder, and an idea hits me. When another flash lights the sky, I’m ready. As the rumbling roar begins, I pull the chain with all my strength; the joist where it’s attached creaks and moans. The thunder rumbles and begins to fade. I either stop now and hope for another rumble of thunder, or go all in. There’s no guarantee I’ll get another chance.
I go all in.
The wooden joist resists, but finally with an ear-splitting creak, it snaps free.
The timing is a little off. I kneel, panting hard, watching the sentries out of the corner of my eye. They fidget under their umbrellas, but otherwise, don’t seem to have noticed. I exhale with relief. Working quickly, I twist the bars underwater into a long staff, securing the chain to one end. I lift the staff from the water and roll it onto the pavilion floor, bringing up the attached chain as quietly as possible. My new weapon lies in a puddle of water, green algae pockmarking the otherwise shining gold bars. The staff looks fit for a dragon king.
I survey my handiwork with a smirk, almost wishing Horsey were here to see. Small mercies he’s not – the tongue-lashing I’d get for my crumpled, dirtied, and most of all Western trousers would no doubt scorch my ears. The intensity of the rain lightens with the coming of dawn, until it is no more than shimmering dew. The sun rises with a dancing display of colour that forces the moon to retreat and fade. I sit cross-legged in the middle of the pavilion, facing the long walkway, and wait.
Two handmaids saunter towards me, no doubt to gawk and jeer. My lips curl into a smile as they notice I am awake and armed. They slow their steps, stare, then turn tail and run, screaming for my grandmother. The sentries are no longer masked, though I can still tell them apart by smell. Green mask and red mask wait for the other two to arrive. Yellow mask hangs back, lets his underlings lead the charge.
The turd-brains cross the bridge. It’s narrow, which forces them to attack single file. Using the staff almost like a fishing rod, I fling out the chain and one by one I knock them off the bridge into the lake. The creature in the lake breaches the water not far from the pavilion and disappears again.
‘I should probably let you know there is something rather large living in the lake,’ I say, gesturing at a disappearing tail. ‘You may want to get out of the water lest you become someone’s tasty snack.’
The men glance over in time to see a large shadow moving swiftly towards them. Their faces contort in ways which seem to defy gravity and their arms pinwheel in their haste to get back to shore. I grin. I offer a mentalabundant gratitudetowards the creature at my back for its impeccable timing. The leader pulls out a sword. It flames blue.Shit sticks. It’s a sword of Hell.
‘Yan Luo Wang’s going to be mad you stole one of his weapons.’
The man sneers but says nothing as he walks slowly across the bridge, sword at the ready.
I look at my twisted metal rod, then shrug. Bullhead taught me well. Time to labour my grindstone. ‘I have a score to settle with you,’ I say.
The man sneers. ‘For killing your pretty mortal friend? How predictable you are.’
I breathe, nice and slow, and centre my yin, before dropping into my first sword form. All those anger management lessons have finally come in handy. I channel my anger into my yin, tapping into the qi all around us. I close my eyes.
In my mind’s eye, his yin glows green. I sink deeper and flow into my sword forms. His yin flares and he rushes me, jian flaming blue. His advantage is size – bulk and inertia. But this time, I’m faster. Maybe stronger. I nimbly step aside, deflect his blow. He sways off-balance, but rights himself. Swings his sword in a great arc, slicing through air with a high-pitched whistle. I block. Metal screeches against metal, my staff vibrates from the force of the blow.
We parry. His sword sparks against my staff. The chain whips at him. He manages to twist away every time. His gaze – fierce, focussed. A fine sweat sheens his skin. I dance around his sword, let him get close. His yin glow gives everything away. I’m toying with him, but he doesn’t know it. I increase the pace. If I can defeat him, I can get off the pavilion and escape the palace.
Our weapons clash, faster and faster, until they sound like exploding strings of firecrackers. Sweat drips from his brows. He grimaces in concentration. His sword arm must be tiring because his blocks are no longer as solid or efficient. His blows no longer land where they should.
I move faster still – whirling and spinning. My whip lands a blow to his shoulder, his back. I jab him in the kidney. The stomach. The chest. Blow after blow after blow. He can no longer block me.
