Library

Chapter 22

XIAN

Duanwu, one of the four most important festivals of the year, marked a change in seasons that could bring a year of prosperity—or

of disaster. The beginning of summer coincided with the arrival of plagues such as sickness, crop-destroying insects, and

drought. To ward off evil, people hung mugwort and calamus on their doors and nailed eight-sided coin charms to the gates

of their houses.

As Xian stood in front of the mirror in his chamber dressed in his lóng páo , the same feeling churned inside his chest: They were on the brink of a change of fortune—good or bad, he did not know.

The doors of the adjoining room opened and Feng emerged, sharply attired in his uniform. The bold white cross collar set him apart as a royal bodyguard. His sword hung by his waist in an ornate black-and-gold scabbard worn only during official occasions.

Xian winked. "You look good."

"Careful." Feng flexed his left arm, freshly liberated from its sling. "Your lover might be jealous."

"He's gone off to get ready. They made him a special robe for the celebration."

Feng scoffed. "The only difference to you is how quickly you can get him out of it tonight."

Xian smirked. The past few nights, Zhen had been mortified each time the bed creaked under them as their rhythmic sounds grew

louder, more feverish.

"Sorry. I know you're a light sleeper." Xian paused. "I want to bring him with us when we return to Wuyue."

Feng seemed surprised. "What?"

"Don't worry, I'll make sure his sister comes along too. I have no doubt you will be entirely honorable and marry her before

you sleep with her."

"Don't try to change the subject." Feng shot him a look. "I wouldn't give the poor boy false hopes like that. You might get

tired of him before we reach Xifu, and then what?"

Xian raised an eyebrow. "Is that concern I detect? For the one you vehemently argued should not be allowed to sleep in my

chamber? Is this your way of thanking him for saving your life?"

"He acted bravely that day." Feng's tone was grudging. "But I think you're moving too fast. You barely know him."

Feng's objection mirrored Zhen's reaction when Xian talked about bringing him back to Wuyue. Like Feng, Zhen didn't seem to believe he could hold Xian's attention for long.

Well, they were both wrong. Zhen hadn't hidden the fact that he hadn't been with anyone else, but this was also a first for

Xian. The way he felt about Zhen was different from any other boy that came before, and Xian didn't want him to be just an

enjoyable fling in a distant land. He intended to bring him back to the palace in Xifu, and once they found the cure and his

mother was healed, he would have time to win the other boy's heart.

"I had a long talk with Fahai earlier," Xian said. "Hunting snakes got us nowhere, and we're running out of time. We need

a more efficient way to capture the white snake."

"And what's that?" Feng asked.

Xian showed him a coin charm with a square hole in the middle, the kind widely sold in marketplaces before the festival. One

side of the coin was engraved with symbols of the wǔ dú , the five poisons: the centipede, the lizard, the scorpion, the toad... and the snake.

"?‘Even a powerful dragon struggles to overcome a snake in its native haunt,'?" Xian said. "The priest's words are the clue

we've been missing. The oracle said the key to finding the cure lies in Changle—not just the place, but the people. We need them to bring the white snake to us."

"Your father didn't want anyone else knowing the real reason for us coming to Changle," Feng pointed out. "How can we enlist the help of the population without raising suspicion?"

The corners of Xian's mouth curled up. "I have a plan."

The palace in Wuyue was located right next to the West Lake, where the annual dragon boat race was held. But Changle's palace

was about an hour's ride from the Min Jiang, the venue of their dragon boat race.

When Xian and his entourage arrived, the celebrations were already in full swing. Families milled around, laughing and chatting,

while children chased one another with egg pouches swinging around their necks. Vendors sold food as well as silk handkerchiefs,

five-colored bracelets, and incense sachets. The fizzle of firecrackers filled the air, and the river shimmered with sunset

hues of vermilion and violet as the dragon boats gathered downstream.

A sheltered dais with tables, couches, and a stage for the evening's entertainment had been set up on the riverbank for the

senior court officials and the most honored guests from Wuyue. A herald of horn blasts welcomed the royal entourage, and everyone

stopped and bowed as Xian walked past, followed by Feng, Fahai, and Governor Gao.

Xian's gaze searched for Zhen and found him on the dais, standing next to the grandest cushioned couch. Zhen looked beautiful

in an embroidered white robe that reached to his ankles. A silver filigree band encircled his forehead, and the top half of

his long hair was braided elaborately while the rest flowed down his shoulders.

As Xian ascended the steps, Zhen knelt gracefully, his hands folded in front of him. Then he rose and offered Xian a cup of steaming tea.

"Your Highness," he said, a glimmer of mirth in his eyes.

Xian took the cup and drank the tea. Then he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Zhen's ear. That was something

he never did to any of the other boys he slept with. He'd kissed them, touched them, but he had never stroked their hair away

from their faces or felt such affection as he ran his fingertips over the curves of their ears.

Qing appeared with a tray of dumplings wrapped in bamboo leaves. She wore a high-waisted green dress with long white sleeves,

the formal attire of palace maids. She smiled at Feng, who had taken a seat on the other couch with Fahai. Feng beamed back.

Drumbeats signaled that the dragon boat race was about to begin. The setting sun had touched the horizon, and a handful of

longboats festooned with flags and banners were waiting at the starting line. Each wooden watercraft had a carved dragon head

in front, a tail at the end, and brightly colored scales painted on the sides. The hull was exceptionally narrow, with just

enough space for a crew of twenty men seated in pairs with oars.

Xian unwrapped a triangular dumpling and bit into the filling of chestnuts, jujubes, red beans, and minced pork mixed with

sticky rice.

"This can't compare with the zòng zi my mother makes," he told Zhen. "Her secret ingredients are dried red dates and pine nut kernels. My father likes to joke that Qu Yuan would've written poetry about them."

"Who's Qu Yuan?" Zhen asked.

Xian was surprised. What kind of isolated childhood had Zhen had to be unfamiliar with the people and stories behind the popular

festivals?

"Qu Yuan was a poet and a court official who lived in Chu during the time of the Warring States," he replied. "He was a good

man, but jealous rivals slandered him, and he was exiled by the king. When he heard of Chu's defeat by its enemies on the

fifth day of the fifth month, he threw himself into the river in grief. The villagers were so touched by his love for his

homeland that they went out on boats to search for him."

"Did they find him?" Zhen asked.

"No. But they threw sticky rice dumplings into the water to stop fish from eating his body, and they continued to remember

the day of his death by going out onto the river on boats decorated with fierce dragon heads, beating loud drums to drive

away the river monsters."

At the sound of the horn, the dragon boats shot off the starting line and sliced through the water like wooden blades. The

race was a sprint across five hundred yards, a burst of raw power fueled by cheers from onlookers thronging the banks. Oarsmen

rowed in perfect, furious synchronicity to the thunderous, frenetic beat of the drummer at the head of the boat.

Xian stole a glance at Zhen. The fascination on the boy's face as the winning vessel sailed across the finish line was more interesting than the race itself.

At festivals, it was customary for the highest-ranked official to give a short speech before feasting began. Xian walked onto

the stage. This was the first time the prince of Wuyue was publicly addressing the people, and the crowd fell quiet, eager

to hear what he had to say.

Xian spoke, his voice clear in the crisp evening air.

"When I was a young boy, my beloved mother would scrupulously follow all the traditions of the Duanwu Festival," he said.

"She would bathe me in water that had been left out in the sunshine. She would boil an egg in tea, dye it red, and hang it

around my neck in a small bag woven with colorful string. She would dip her finger into white wine mixed with realgar powder

and write the character 王 on my forehead to drive away evil spirits. I see many of you fathers and mothers have done the same."

The crowd listened, rapt. Parents hugged their children close.

Xian raised the reverse side of the coin charm he had shown Feng earlier, which was carved with the characters 驅邪降福 .

" Qū xié jiàng fú —‘Expel evil and send down good fortune,'?" he said. "In this Year of the Snake and on behalf of my father, the king of Wuyue,

I am announcing a bounty: I will award one silver tael to every person who brings a white snake to the Changle palace by the

end of tomorrow."

There was stunned silence. A silver tael was two months' wages for most workers.

"The snake must be white, and it must be alive and unharmed," Xian continued. "No reward will be given otherwise."

Applause broke out, and some people immediately departed, likely to get a head start with the hunt. Xian stepped back, pleased.

Hopefully by this time tomorrow, they would have at least one white snake in their possession, and he would find an excuse

to leave for Wuyue immediately.

The banquet dishes served were similar to what Xian ate back home during the festival: Green bean sprouts, leek, and shredded

meat wrapped in wheat flour pancakes so thinly rolled, they were as translucent as silk. Eel, in season and particularly fatty

and tender, stewed with tofu and mushrooms. Boiled salted duck eggs with a liquid white and a firm, orange-red yolk.

As Xian and his entourage dined, musicians played bowed strings, woodwinds, cymbals, gongs, and the qín , favored instrument of emperors. Courtesans came onto the stage and danced, twirling multicolored silk fans. Deng wasn't

among them.

Next to Xian, Zhen looked very pale, and he barely touched the food. Before Xian could ask if he was all right, a few drops

of fresh blood landed on Zhen's white robe.

"Your nose is bleeding again." Xian reached for Zhen's hand as another crimson spot fell. "Your palms are freezing! Are you

ill?"

"I don't feel well." Zhen's voice was constricted. "May I be excused? Qing can accompany me back to the palace—"

"This may help." Fahai approached with a ceramic goblet in both hands. "Prince, I prepared this herbal decoction as you instructed."

"Perfect timing." Xian took the goblet and offered it to Zhen. "I asked Fahai to prepare this medicine for you. It will help

your nosebleed. Here, drink it."

Zhen looked stricken, like a cornered animal. Blood continued to trickle from his nose. Xian took a handkerchief and dabbed

his upper lip.

"Give Fahai's medicine a try," he urged. "The palace is an hour's ride from here, and you look like you might pass out if

you take more than a few steps."

He brought the goblet to Zhen's mouth, but the other boy recoiled. Qing and Feng came over, looking anxious.

"What's wrong with him?" Qing asked.

Xian didn't know why Zhen was so reluctant to drink the decoction.

"Tell you what," he said, "I'll drink the first mouthful, and you finish the rest." That was how Xian's mother used to coax

him to take medicine when he was little. Xian sipped from the goblet and suppressed the urge to gag. These decoctions always

tasted terrible. "Now your turn."

Zhen seemed to blanch even more, turning his face away from the goblet.

"Xian," he whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. "Please..."

Fahai spoke sternly. "It is not proper to refuse the concern of the prince, especially in the sight of so many of his subjects."

Zhen looked distraught. His lips finally parted, and he shuddered as he gulped down the acrid-smelling decoction. When he finished, he remained unnaturally still, his eyes closed. His hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Zhen?" Qing hurried to his other side. "Are you all right?"

Zhen caught Qing's wrist; his fingers dug so hard into her flesh that she gasped. When he opened his mouth, an unintelligible

noise emerged—a guttural breath that sounded almost feral.

Xian jumped to his feet. "Zhen? What's wrong?"

Zhen's eyes rolled back in his head. He twitched like a puppet jerked by invisible strings and toppled to the floor, convulsing

with violent spasms. Patches of scaly white bloomed across his face and neck, spreading over his skin.

Xian rushed forward, but Fahai caught his arm. "Stay back, Prince."

Zhen let out a bloodcurdling, inhuman shriek. His limbs began shrinking; it looked as if his bones were melting from their

marrow. His torso lengthened with the same frightening speed that his arms and legs vanished. His body grew longer, narrower,

and his embroidered robe pooled around his limbless, writhing form. His face contorted as if it had been splashed with acid,

altering from human into something grotesque, something reptilian—

Xian stared in horror as a large white snake reared up where Zhen had been. Its scales gleamed, and when it raised its serpentine

head, it was more than half the height of a man, its bulky body as thick as a huge pipe. On its left side was a deep, pitted

scar several inches in length.

Chaos erupted. People screamed and fell over one another trying to get away. Guards drew their weapons, but even they seemed too afraid to come close.

The white snake's forked tongue flicked out. Its unblinking, brilliant green eyes fixed on Xian.

Feng swung out with his sword. The tip of his blade grazed the snake, leaving a thin line of blood against its bone-white

body. The snake hissed and opened its jaws, revealing two rows of sharp, backward-curving teeth.

Feng drew his arm back for another strike—

"No!" Xian wrenched himself out of Fahai's grip and leaped in front of the snake. "Don't attack!"

Everyone froze. Feng looked shocked; his arm halted in midair, his blade inches from a fatal stroke across Xian's neck.

Xian felt as if he were underwater again, drowning in the West Lake, the white snake's coils around his body squeezing the

last breath from his lungs—

"Don't kill him," Xian blurted out. "I need him alive."

Comments

0 Comments
Best Newest

Contents
Settings
  • T
  • T
  • T
  • T
Font

Welcome to FullEpub

Create or log into your account to access terrific novels and protect your data

Don’t Have an account?
Click above to create an account.

lf you continue, you are agreeing to the
Terms Of Use and Privacy Policy.