Chapter 13

ZHEN

When Zhen was an ordinary snake, he loved to swim along rivers and canals that meandered through towns. He would poke his

head above the surface, avoiding the docked merchant boats and crab traps that fishermen hung along the waterways, and curiously

watch humans hurrying across bridges, always needing to be somewhere else. They seemed oblivious to their surroundings, a

luxury most creatures didn't have.

He wanted a chance to live like them. To leave his own footprints on the paths of the world. And when he saw the gleaming

orb in that little boy's hand... he knew at once that it was a mythical spirit pearl, the kind the old tortoise had told

him about. A pearl that would change everything.

Zhen had told no one how he became a snake spirit. Not even Qing. Maybe that was another reason he had been compelled to rescue her—as a way to atone for taking the pearl. If he used its stolen power to save another life, perhaps what he had done would be a little less wrong.

He left the West Lake and traveled far and wide—north beyond the Huang He, south to the Pearl River, and east to the Tibetan

Plateau, which people called the "roof of the world." Still, he thought often about the little boy he'd abandoned on that

islet—his scared, ruddy face, his long, dark hair plastered to the sides of his head. He'd wondered what had become of him.

Now he had the answer.

Zhen stood alone in the middle of the prince's bedchamber. Cold morning light streamed through the open window. Xian had left

half an hour ago for a meeting with Governor Gao and his court officials. Zhen had scrubbed the stains on the floor from his

nosebleed, but the sleeve of Xian's sleeping robe, hanging on the rack, still had traces of his blood.

Last night, the memory, the shock, the realization—it was just too overwhelming, like a monstrous wave that had sucked him

out to sea. Even now, his eyes strayed to the latched rattan case in the corner of the room, and he imagined his fellow snakes

captured alive, tortured, maybe even used for experiments... his stomach curdled, and he had to force down the urge to

be sick again.

All these years, Xian had been hunting snakes, hurting them—all because of him. Zhen hadn't bitten Xian's mother, but he had

taken the pearl meant to cure her. If only he had known how much suffering he would cause by taking that shiny little orb—

He had to leave. Get out of Changle. Put as much distance between himself and Xian as possible. Xian could never find out

that the stable wasn't the first place they had met.

Zhen started toward the door but halted as he passed the wéi qí board. The pieces were just as he and Xian had left them the night before. He leaned down, picked up a white stone from the

bowl, and turned it over in his fingers.

Some people believed cold-blooded creatures couldn't feel emotions. That wasn't true. The feelings that Xian stirred in him

were painfully real. When Xian had used his own sleeve to wipe the blood from Zhen's nose, the tenderness had been almost

more than he could bear.

"Goodbye, Xian," he whispered.

He dropped the single white stone into the bowl of black stones. Then he turned away and walked out of the prince's chamber

for the last time.

The palace kitchen was on the eastern side of the inner court, close to the storehouses. It was divided into a main kitchen,

a tea kitchen, and a bakery. Qing had told him that meticulous records were kept of which cook prepared each dish. If the

food was good, the dishes could be easily reordered; if something bad happened, the culprits could be identified just as swiftly.

"Zhen!"

He looked up as a motherly woman in her forties hurried toward him. She wore a waistcoat with half-length sleeves and a button

in front, indicating her position as a senior kitchen staff member.

"Hello, Madam Hua." Zhen glanced around. "Is Qing here? I need to talk to her."

Madam Hua chuckled. "Oh, your sister was fretting about you all of yesterday. I told her now that you're the prince of Wuyue's

attendant, you'll have all kinds of duties to take care of, and you'll come and see her as soon as you can. But she was still

so distracted, she ruined an entire batch of fried sesame balls—"

"Zhen!" Qing burst out of the kitchen and hurtled toward him as if they hadn't seen each other in years. She threw her arms

around his neck and squeezed so tightly that he gasped. "I've been so worried about you!"

"Qing, go on and take a fifteen-minute break with your brother." Madam Hua gave Zhen a wink. "I'm sure you'll have some juicy

gossip to share. I'll let you two catch up..."

Zhen forced a smile and waited until Madam Hua went back into the kitchen before he turned to Qing. "We need to get out of

here. Right now."

Qing frowned. "Wait, what? Why?"

"It's not safe here any longer," Zhen replied urgently. "Please, Qing, I need you to trust me on this. Go back inside, don't

appear suspicious, and pack your stuff—"

"But we don't get paid until next week! Isn't that the whole point of stopping in Changle? To earn money for the rest of our

journey to Mount Emei?" Qing's eyes narrowed. "It's the prince, isn't it? What did he do?" She took Zhen's face between her

palms. "Did he hurt you? Is that why you're so pale? Did he have you chained to his bed all this time?"

"No." Zhen swatted her hands away. "He did nothing of the sort. In fact, he treated me very well. I'll explain everything later, but for now, we have to—"

"Are you Zhen, the prince's attendant?" came a male voice behind them.

Zhen spun around. A teenage boy dressed in a blue robe with wide sleeves and a matching sash stood there. He was the courtesan

who had been in the teal costume at the welcome banquet.

"I am." Zhen bowed. He hoped the boy hadn't overheard their conversation. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"My name is Deng." The boy returned the bow. "Steward Chu has asked me to take over your training today."

Zhen groaned inwardly. He tried to stall. "I'm actually... feeling unwell."

"Ah, yes." Deng gave a knowing nod. "I imagine the prince didn't let you get much sleep for the last two nights. We have the

perfect remedy for that. Come with me to the Hall of Training Courtesans, and I'll get you a bottle of pills."

The timing couldn't have been any worse. Zhen exchanged a dismayed glance with Qing, but he had no other choice. "Of course.

Please lead the way."

Qing went back into the kitchen as Zhen set off with Deng. As they walked across the wide marble terrace, heads swiveled and people nudged one another and pointed at Zhen. The embroidered white robe that designated him as the prince's attendant fitted him like a silk glove, but the attention it drew chafed like rough hemp. Another bitter reminder that whatever Xian saw in him was nothing more than an illusion.

He wasn't who Xian thought he was—and he could never be.

"No wonder everyone is so fascinated with you," Deng remarked. "I've never seen anyone go from mucking horse stalls to serving

a royal within a day."

His tone was as pleasant as a calm lake, but his words felt like rocks beneath water. Zhen pressed his lips into a thin line

and said nothing. The sooner he could get away, the better.

They reached the Hall of Training Courtesans, and Deng led him to a storeroom at the back of the building. The shelves were

stacked with all kinds of items: porcelain lamps, lanterns, candles, bundles of incense sticks, even umbrellas.

"You can collect more candles, incense sticks, and tea leaves for the prince's chamber," Deng said. "You should also refill

the bottle by the bed. You wouldn't want to run out of that in the middle of the night."

Zhen's face flushed. Deng had assumed the same thing everyone else had, even Qing.

He turned to Deng. "What type of incense should I bring for—"

An open palm slammed into the side of Zhen's head. Starbursts of red exploded in his eyes—then another strike connected with

the front of his neck, knocking all the air out of his throat and sending him sprawling onto the floor.

"My father was good at martial arts when he wasn't a mean drunk." Deng's boot shot out and kicked Zhen in the stomach. "He taught me one thing: how to hit where it hurts most without leaving any trace."

At any other time, Zhen would have been able to fight back like he did in the tavern, but the nosebleed last night had badly

drained his qi. He hadn't felt this weak since he'd saved Qing's life.

Zhen grunted and curled in on himself, his ribs rising and falling as Deng loomed over him. Deng grabbed the front of his

robe with one hand and dragged him to his feet with surprising strength, given the other boy's lithe build.

"I didn't run away from home and sleep my way to where I am just to lose my place in the prince's bed to some lowly stable

hand," he hissed in Zhen's face.

Deng drew back his fist and swung, sending a stab of excruciating pain through Zhen's abdomen. Bitter copper bubbled up his

throat, filling his mouth before his world went dark.