ZE LU JIN (萴露瑾)

  Day 4, 4th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Shuishang Province, Shanhu Prefecture

  Shame.

  They’re trying to shame me.

  Or they aren't? Or maybe they are? Hehehe…

  Paper trembled in my hands. The invitation had crisp edges ironed in with precision. The only blemish to the white came from the red wax seal that stained like blood.

  I hate them.

  Who would want to be invited to this?

  My eyes stopped at a single sentence.

  “Ze Lujin, as the last royal descendant of the Liantai Sect, your presence is requested at His Heavenly Majesty’s Birthday Celebration.”

  The last royal descendant. I tossed the paper aside.

  That was not me.

  That was Lian Xudan (蓮許亶).

  You betrayed her, you twit.

  I wouldn't betray my sister.

  Sure, sure. Lie to yourself.

  Shut up!

  The world shifted away from me. I reached out into the air and scraped at it, desperately trying to stay here. But the world continued to run away. My hands gripped my head, and my feet paced back-and-forth across the floor as if they had a mind of their own.

  People are coming after me.

  The sounds of footsteps were getting louder. Louder and louder. Grasping together my clothes, I spun my head around, searching for an object. Just something, anything to protect myself. My fringe—jagged and overgrown—curtained my view and I swiped at it viciously, before grabbing at the first glinting object I had seen.

  A knife.

  I angled it toward the sound.

  They’re coming. Coming to kill me. Like they killed…

  “Mother?” A tall man appeared from around the corner.

  He was dressed in clad black…like those assassins.

  His zhíjū was long and flowed with night…like those assassins.

  I waved the knife at him. The man slowly approached with his hands out.

  “Mother, it’s me. Your son. Zhiwei. You can put down your weapon.”

  “Get back!” I screeched, trying to point the damn blade at the man. “I said: get back! I don’t have a son!” But my floundering hands did not listen to me, as they dropped the knife.

  The man grabbed my hands and hugged me tightly. I struggled against his embrace, clawing my nails into his chest. He placed his hand behind my head and smushed my face into him.

  “Did you forget to take your herbal draft? I’m sorry for frightening you, mother. But I got you what you wanted.” His chest buzzed as he spoke.

  I could hear his heartbeat. I relaxed my shoulders.

  He let go of me. The man knelt down beside me, causing his clothes to puddle around him like a black hole. His eyes met mine.

  Curiously, I stretched out a hand to touch his face. Son. I had a son. Another man who wear the same face entered the room.

  Two sons.

  “Why are you so crazy?” the other man said.

  I tilted my head toward him. He was folding his arms, and his face was twisted in a permanent scowl. Hastily, I buried my face into the man who was dressed in black clad clothes. I took a deep breath.

  I’m not crazy.

  Yes you are.

  No, I’m not.

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  I scrunched up my face at the voices in my head that wouldn't shut up and pointed at the man kneeling before me. The man captured my pointing finger, then pressed my palm to his until his fingers entwined with mine.

  “Mother. It’s Zhiwei,” he repeated.

  “Zhiwei,” I parroted.

  He returned a soft smile.

  The man called ‘Zhiwei’ turned to the other man.

  “She’s not crazy. She’s tired.” He looked at me again and fished out four phials from his clothes, “Look. Monkshood. Just as you wanted. For the poison…remember?”

  bīnghuǒdú (冰火毒). Yes. That untraceable poison capable of killing an Immortal. I gleefully rubbed my hands.

  “Today, we’ll make it!” I said.

  “Yes, as promised.”

  The man stood up, and his clothes straightened in response. His eyes were full of concern and his eyebrows were tightly knitted. He gripped my shoulders to help me stand up like I was his child.

  “But you promised to take your pills. You can’t keep doing this.”

  Pills?

  Pills are for the weak.

  But your son said that you have to take them, be good.

  You don’t even know if that person is your son.

  He must be, why would he lie?

  Everyone lies.

  He doesn’t seem to be lying.

  And what would you know about lying?

  I was only tricked once.

  And what did that cost you?

  …

  Whatever, suit yourself. But if you eat those pills you won’t be able to hear me anymore.

  I rubbed my head again and blinked rapidly. My fringe sprawled over my vision like a bush of fountain grasses. “I’ll take it.”

  He handed me a small pouch filled with magenta marbles—no, they looked more like beads.

  We used to thread beads. I wonder how she is now.

  She’s dead of course! You killed her.

  I didn’t mean to.

  Did too.

  Stop saying that.

  But you know I’m right. And if you—

  I scoffed the pills down and I winced at the bitter aftertaste.

  Just as nasty as ever.

  ***

  My son placed the phials on the stone bench, rolled out a scroll, and hoisted up his sleeves. The parchment was covered in markings of the Old Language, but the sketch of an icicle was unmistakable. I wiped my hand across the diagram and analysed the ingredients.

  Incomplete and vague. As to expected of the thieving traitor who copied out the recipe. Such poisons weren’t meant to be documented.

  But it would have to do.

  After years of hiding in the dark, with only demons as my company, the chance of revenge had come.

  Sui Baolan (隨暴蘭) needed to pay. I balled my fists. A trickle of blood flowed down my wrist as my nails pierced my flesh. How lovely it would be to watch her blood spill like this.

  No. I wanted her to feel my pain. The pain I felt as I watched the blood flow out of my sister’s mouth as the poison corroded her soul. I wanted her to squeal just as Little Socks did.

  I wanted the Empress to watch as her empire fell.

  Death was too easy for her.

  A drop of my blood splattered into the bowl and smoke hissed as the blood burned through the dried monkshood.

  My son shuddered. The scales tipped oddly as he weighed the quantity of heartbreak grass. He turned away, with an uncomfortable expression on his face.

  This coward. Why can’t he look me in the eye?

  “Ah Wei.”

  There was a brief stop in his previously fluid actions.

  He gave me a slight smile. “Yes, mother?”

  He was rubbing his hand together, looking more like a naughty child than an adult. His eyes were wobbling slightly, a shimmer of water across his irises. He doubts me.

  “You doubt me,” I said.

  My son stopped working entirely. Immediately, he fell to his knees and smacked his head into the floor and excuses poured from his mouth. “I do not dare mother. I am only tired.”

  Placing a hand on his head, I brought my mouth close to his ear.

  I had taught him many things.

  But I never taught him to lie.

  “You think that I shouldn’t take revenge on that bastard Crown Prince. You think he’s innocent, don’t you?”

  My son returned me a gaze that sparkled as fresh as newborns. How lucky he was to have eyes such as those.

  “Mother, he has done no wrong.”

  “Done no wrong?” I scoffed. “He’s the offspring of Baolan. The witch who slaughtered our people.” I snatched up the bowl of monkshood. “She used this! This! And now she needs to pay.”

  He lifted his head. He had no idea. He hadn’t seen the blood that poured from our family’s mouths as the poison took hold. He hadn’t heard the cries and screams as they tried to claw their way from the fiery pit. He hadn’t seen bodies so burned they were indecipherable pieces of charred meat. He was a child.

  My son’s fringe shadowed his eyes. “But he’s my brother.”

  I slapped his face.

  “Since when did your loyalty lie with him? What about your ancestors? They crave for revenge. They crave for the blood that caused theirs to be spilled. I hear them calling me. They are asking why. Why they cannot be avenged? Why?!”

  My words hung heavy in the silence. I wanted him to reflect on how disappointing, dishonourable and unfilial he was. The proud, royal Lian Dynasty, now lived in ashes, scrounging for scraps from the bottom. We were forced to cower. Cower at the sight of every shadow. Grovel at the might of Taishan. All because of Sui Baolan. That biǎozǐ who bewitched ‘His Majesty.’

  The other man was scowling in the corner; his arms crossed tightly like a well knitted scarf. I knew he understood more than anyone how unfortunate our lives were. But that son was not like Zhiwei. His personality was as similar to his brother as fire was to water. His childish personality could not be tamed.

  My only hope was Zhiwei.

  The invitation stared up at me from the floor, the wax seal taunting me with its shiny red gleam. There was a single character graved into it: yún (雲).

  The character should have been lián (蓮).

  I picked it up. “Do you know why we were invited?”

  No response. My son bowed his head further.

  “They want to shame us! They want to show us how far the Lian Dynasty has fallen!” I slammed the paper on the bench.

  My son wiped his sleeve across his brow.

  “You are right mother. I am unfilial. I will make bīnghuǒdú for you to exact your revenge,” he quietly said.

  The words I wanted to hear.

  I touched his head. “I am glad you understand.”